The Extra
by rockpaperscissorslizardrock
Summary: AU. What if Santana was an actress and Brittany happened to be an extra on set one day.
1. Chapter 1

1.

"How sure are you that you're getting fired?"

"Pretty positive." I shrugged.

I could tell Noah was going to try and fix this. It wasn't the expression on his face—I wasn't even looking at him— But I could tell. His brows were probably furrowed. His forehead a mess of tension.

I looked up to find just that.

"Britt," He started.

"No, Noah, please. I only told you because I knew you'd notice when no one else would."

"You expect me to be quiet about it?"

I nodded with a pout.

Honestly, who was he going to tell? As my half brother, our only connection was the father I vowed never to speak to again. It was pretty much just us.

And as if he could hear my thoughts, he whispered,

"I could tell your mom."

I chortled.

"That would be awkward…you've had exactly—"

"Two," he laughed, "Two conversations with her."

I smiled. I'd never known a 16 year old I liked until this guy. Maybe because he was already 10 when we'd met, so I didn't have to deal with his non-listening phase—or maybe because he never seemed to have one.

He loved me like he didn't know life without me. I'd always felt undeserving and genuinely astounded by his capacity to forgive, protect, and care for me—I was an awful big sister. Take this very moment, for instance; I was sitting idly by and letting him pay for Starbucks. He's just a kid in high school for Christ's sake. But hey, I was getting fired.

"But how do you know?"

"Noah…after Thanksgiving break…I'm fired."

"Stop it."

"I'm serious," I said matter-of-factly.

"What did you do?"

"I, um…asked for a few extra days off."

"And?"

"And… I'm still kinda new?" I shrugged slowly.

"Britt, Please! I thought you were serious!"

"Noah, I am! I got a very strongly worded email warning…saying I wasn't committed."

His jaw dropped. His big evergreen eyes sprung to life. He was livid.

"So that's why you're working 13 and 14 hour days, 7 days a week..." He said sarcastically.

I wore a tight-lipped smile when I nodded in agreement.

And with that, I couldn't wait to get fired. I hadn't had a social life since I'd moved from New York to Solana Beach six months ago. I thought I would love working for a non-profit organization, but it turned out it was more taxing than corporate. Not that I'd ever experienced corporate, but my mom had, and she had always called her job a "9-5". And unless that meant 925…like an area code or something or like a 401K (which I still don't understand, I really thought they just put 401 thousand dollars in the bank once you start working?), then my assumptions were correct and those were the hours she worked. My hours were 10-9…on a good day. I had no friends, no furniture, and was over the moon when Noah had suggested a visit.

He'd said he had a surprise for me for our last full day together, but I was still dreading tomorrow. We'd spent the week reading Calvin and Hobbes in bookstore windowsills, drinking delicious warm drinks ('I thought California didn't have winter,' he'd said), and cry-laughing at the Disney Channel.

I had finally fallen asleep, after convincing myself that it was okay to let the next day begin, when I was frightened awake by Noah's shove. I cautiously opened an eye. Oh Lord, it burned.

"Noah?"

"Britt, wake up. We got a train to catch." He had a megawatt smile on and was fully dressed. Backpack and all.

…backpack and all? Hold on.

"A train to what?" I let my other eye squint open; keeping the sheets at my chin. The sun hadn't risen and it was freezing.

"This is my surprise! Get up!" He pulled the sheets away and dragged me out of bed. I yelped at the biting cold hitting my skin then made my way to the bathroom and sleepily brushed my teeth as he laid out my clothes. That's when I realized what he was wearing…a tangerine polo and khakis. He laid out an avocado thermal and khakis for me. Complete with Keds.

"A family band? Your surprise is a family band?" I asked with a mouth full of toothpaste.

He laughed. "Grab your backpack and let's go."

Neither of us had a car. I couldn't afford one and he couldn't rent one, so even getting to the Amtrak would be a feat in and of itself.

Noah hadn't thought of that.

And it being four o' clock in the morning made for an awkward public transportation schedule. So we just barely made the train to…LA?

"Noah," I yawned, curling up into the window; but I never finished. I mean to ask him what the hell we were doing. Instead, I made the most of the three-hour train ride and slept. It was a deep, comatose sleep that had me feeling like I was imbedded in the train cushion when I willfully awoke.

Before I could ask a thing, he was yanking me off the train and flying me like a kite through the station; pulling me on to the Los Angeles subway, all with a giddy expression plastered on his face. We sat on the subway for about 20 minutes and he wouldn't say a word. He simply giggled like a tiny woman and drummed his fingers on his knees anxiously.

At sunrise, we were finally disembarking an escalator wherever we were supposed to be in Los Angeles. Noah checked the GPS on his phone for the 94th time and led us to a school bus packed with people dressed in the same loud colors as us. People my age, his age, and in between. He sighed and fanned out his arm as if to say "ta-da", and also to let me choose our seat. I was still baffled. No longer sleepy, but slightly irritated. I held it together the entire bus ride, searching our surroundings for a clue. The people on the bus spoke excitedly and all at once, so even the conversations I caught were fragmented and nonsensical…it seemed nobody knew anyone else. If Noah weren't Noah, I'd be wondering if we were going to Jonestown.

Finally, we got off the bus in front of a large high school and were immediately lined up for registration.

That's when I knew.

Just when I was about to scream "What the FUCK?" I instead turned around and embraced Noah, squealing in his ear. He laughed and picked me up.

"I knew you'd love it, knew it." He motioned for me to turn around; I was next in line. I gave the man behind the table my information and took my voucher, quickly searching for a name. The name. The name. The name.

And there it was. He'd done it again.

The first time, I was a star struck wreck…

Noah and I watched an unhealthy amount of a certain crime-drama to the point where we were past obsession and on to entitlement. We didn't want to watch the show; we wanted to be the dead bodies on the show. And since Noah had a way of simply going after things, we did. We signed up for a casting agency and bounced from show to show as extras. This was how it started. And to some, it wasn't so glamorous.

There was a shit-ton of down time. But Noah and I made sure to go for shows with which we were currently obsessed, so that down time meant more possibilities to see how it all worked…what was a set, what was a real courtroom; how many takes it took, how many camera angles…and having each other made it that much more esoteric…clandestine…this was ours alone.

Our current obsession was a campy sitcom, and I couldn't believe he'd gotten us on. I wasn't yet past the point in my obsession where I could be cool. I pinched and swatted Noah as I hopped to our holding room in the high school's cafeteria. He held my wrists and laughed.

"Britt, Britt, Britt," He calmed as we sat. There were kids at the other end of the table smiling at us. I noticed some of them looked older than me…but then again so were some of the "pubescent" stars of the show. I, of course, looked younger than Noah half the time, so that wasn't saying much.

It turned out Noah had spoken to a few of the casting directors we had worked with back in New York. They had done him this favor.

"Please, Please, Noah." I had my fists at my jaw and my eyes wide—by now our table was full of over-zealous actors who didn't care to eavesdrop from afar. "Please tell me there's a musical number!"

The crowd buzzed…obviously I hadn't heard.

"Only the biggest one this season!" Someone cried.

But we were soon hushed by a bespectacled assistant director from behind a megaphone. He yelled about getting our clothes checked by wardrobe, how long we might be there, paper work, and what could get you fired. I cringed at the thought; both because of my current occupation and also because being fired from this meant so much more than being fired from my actual job. Noah and I got checked for wardrobe.

Seeing as there were both male and female consultants, we did our usual routine of going to the opposite sex. We realized long ago that this was the easiest way to get approved…that and to listen to instructions, which can often be confusing, but I've learned to write things down and re-read.

We were both OK'd so we floated back to our seats. This job was a dream. We got paid to eat really, really good food—I mean, I'm greedy, but this show had a reputation for their delicacies—gossip with other fans, and eat some more. Hours and hours and hours of it.

Rookies were the ones who constantly asked when we'd get on set…not knowing that filming only took about 2 hours of the 9-hour job.

Today I felt like a rookie.

I was at the height of my fascination with this show and was itching to know what this musical number was. Why did they need hundreds of extras? It had to be epic.

Finally, we were called like cattle to file through a door at the back of the cafeteria.

And there we were: A regular high school gymnasium.

We were there to fill bleachers. There were So. Many. Lights. Lights on the ceiling, lights in every corner, some with reflectors surrounding them. Curtains also came down from the ceiling. Oh it was glorious. Noah and I got separated because we were wearing similar colored pants, so he ended up in the front left side of the bleachers and I on the back right.

The stars of the show were strewn about. Some were tired, others were stretching, and most were on their phones. They were awesome.

This was a full on performance and all we had to do was watch and cheer. And that was easy to do…until four hours passed. A gym full of people plus lights made for a sauna. We were all a mess and had deserved a break. One of the other extras who had been sitting at our table earlier asked if I wanted to go with her to get water. I should, but I decided against it. I leaned back on my elbows and watched almost everyone else stampede out of the gym while a glistening Noah approached me with a tired smile. He sat diagonally from me, one row ahead and grinned ridiculously.

"Yes," I laughed, "you're the best."

He nodded and said, "You sure you don't want crafties? I hear there are Dots…"

I thought about it…and realized that I wanted candy more than water, though I was probably dangerously close to dehydration what with all the heat.

I hopped down the bleachers noisily and saw him slowly trail behind me. One of the stars' heads snapped in my direction as I took my last hop off the bleachers. "Yikes," I mouthed to myself and continued walking towards the door to the cafeteria. The sun caught my eye as I waited to round a corner back to the cafeteria. A man holding a large tube blowing seemingly cool air stood blocking the door, so I strolled up and stopped to let him to pass. As I did so, I caught a pair of caramel legs slowing down opposite my path. My eyes trailed up wondering if I'd be lucky enough to…No. No. It couldn't be.

As my eyes reached the figure's mid-drift, the sun smacked my vision again and I shoved my hands in my pockets and squinted enthusiastically to try and make out the figure. Then I saw the face.

If I had had more than one jowl, they would've all hit the ground and shattered. The television certainly did her no justice…and she was gorgeous on the show. But

my (and presumably everyone's) favorite character was simply stunning. She stepped in front of the sun and was already locked on my eyes as if she had already been watching me squint.

It cleared every thought, noise, and care in the world from my mind. The way she appeared was a scene from so many movies I'd watched. The sun behind her, her face some sort of heavenly beacon. It all happened so slowly.

We simply stared.

Long enough for me to think about a few things:

I can't believe she's more beautiful in real life.

Her lips look like fruit. Crimson and plump.

Why isn't she smiling?

She looks almost…proud…like her chin should be raised in a brazen fashion, but it's not.

What's my expression like?

I made sure to relax my features, keep my hands in my pockets, and just let this last as long as possible. I was trying desperately to stay locked on her eyes, but keep her whole face in sight at the same time.

Her hands were held behind her back, and her feet playfully took their last step. And just like that, someone laughed to my right. It was loud and purposeful. It should've caught our attention. We should've turned towards it.

But she didn't.

I did. Slowly. I attempted the most faint smile known to man and simultaneously turned my head, ungluing my eyes from her at the last possible moment.

It was Noah. He was laughing at the man with the tube blowing air into his face. I quickly looked back, but my character was gone. I caught a glimpse of her cheek right next to mine as she passed on my left.

I walked away exactly like a dog with its tail between its legs. Hanging my head. Shoulders slumped. The man with the air tube seemed to know what I needed and let the air hit my face as I passed him. It was room temperature air and felt dirty, but it was refreshing. I puffed out a breath from my own lips and shook my head, kind of like Roger Rabbit after he sees Jessica Rabbit?…but you know, subtler, a saddened version of the sentiment.

Noah laughed when I casually mentioned having seen our favorite character. How could he not have seen it? It had occurred just a few feet to his left. I mean…maybe it had lasted about half a minute…but we all know that's a long time to stare.

And I certainly wouldn't be able to stop thinking about it.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Hey guys! I'm not sure if you're liking the story or not…Let me know leave me reviews! Without them I don't know whether to continue!

/

2.

My boss, Will, was horrible at his job.

I hated him.

There'd been a time when we were all friends: me, his VP—Emma— and my three co-workers Rachel, Tina, and Artie.. We were such a small staff that it was hard not to become a family. These people had taught me how to drive without ever asking why I'd never had a license at my age. Sure they teased, but it was always over beers and pickled vegetables. I'd grown to love them. And this is why it was so hard to have my commitment questioned. I'd always had to work harder than everyone else, and to have it go unnoticed was devastating.

Will and Emma were both sitting at the 'conference' table (it was really just a standard table…we never had conferences), waiting for me to walk through the door to our office suite. Smiling. I wanted to kick those fucking smug faces off of their heads.

"Hey Britt," Will started, "how was your break?"

"Ok..." I had already decided that that would be my answer to every question.

"I'm obviously concerned about your commitment to this positio—"

"Really?" I quickly stopped myself.

"Britt, we spoke about the short notice you gave me asking for extra days off…" Will said, still smiling.

I glared at Emma. She had been the one to recommend me taking more time. She said it like I was being ridiculous for even worrying about it.

"Ok." I said, blankly.

"It's a matter of professionalism." He said, absurdly adjusting the sunglasses he always wore to meetings.

I felt like spitting flames at him.

"You do know I worked three weeks straight just before I left, right?"

Will shrugged, "and?"

"…I've given up just about everything…I don't have time for—"

"I'm sorry, Britt…I'm not seeing it…" He shrugged. Emma batted her stupid looking eyes and gave me an apologetic smile.

I contemplated throwing the door at their faces. But instead gave my two weeks notice.

That's when I started dreaming about the actress. I had googled her name: Santana…something. I would spend my last days of work analyzing the look we shared and replaying it in my mind. I typed and thought of the Santana's lips. I went on interviews and remembered her eyes. I sat in meetings and memorized her legs.

As Christmas neared, I dragged my feet to the last interview I had been able to set up. I had no savings and if this failed…so did I. It was a long shot…L.A. long. The position was for a Literary Magazine and I would be an editor. My resume screamed 'I've only had one job', and I wasn't sure how exactly this was supposed to work. As soon as I stepped off of the elevator, though, I knew I had to work there. It was a spacious loft with pottery and modern art splayed about. There was granola on every table and people dressed in brunch attire were conversing intensely. What kind of magazine was this? Where are the loud talkers? Where's the hustle and bustle?

The dapper older man who interviewed me laughed at my questions—thinking I was being facetious— went on to ask me what I was reading, and beamed when I spoke of my hometown. Most Californians were unimpressed with the spectacle of the city, but not Mr. Carlos. He was a handsome man of about 55 who knew how to make a person feel important, yet was quite funny himself.

One thing we did not discuss, however; was the position.

He shook my hand and sent me on my way.

Rent was due in just two weeks and I had no money. I couldn't even afford to go back to New York. So I waited. I sat on my futon blankly and watched Spongebob. I got a phone call one night when I finally decided to check my mail. Standing at the mailboxes, I wondered what the unfamiliar area code was, but picked up anyway.

"Miss Brittany Pierce?"

"This is she," I said busily.

"It's Mr. Carlos."

As I took out my key to unlock my front door, I smiled. I think he heard it. "Oh…Hi, Mr. Carlos."

"What're you doing for Christmas, Brittany?"

"Um," I said, carefully, "Well, I can't really go back home, so I was just going to—"

"You do know it's tomorrow, right?"

"What's tomorrow?"

"Christmas eve, Dear."

"Oh yes, of course." No. I didn't.

He laughed. "Alright, well then come spend it with me and my family"

"I…um…"

"Come now, don't refuse your new boss."

"My what?" I jumped out of my skin.

He chuckled. "Did we not go over this?"

"No, not really." I was a volcano; seconds away from annihilating an entire village with my bubbling joy.

"Right, well you got the job." He was the villagers;completely oblivious.

"Thank you so much, Sir."

Never mind figuring out how to move to L.A., I had a job!

"So I'll see you tomorrow evening and I'll email you my address"

"Yes sir."

"Okay Brittany, good work."

"Sir?"

"Yes?"

"What should I bring to Christmas?"

Mr. Carlos emailed me his address as well as a confirmation number for a round trip ticket to L.A that he'd paid for. I said "Awww" out loud as I read the message. He mentioned that he'd pick me up from the station and all I could do was comply.

I wished so much that this man reminded me of my dad, but he didn't. He did remind me of a dad though. You know, a typical father. But not my dad.

Things weren't going much better with my mom. I had to lie and say that I couldn't pass up dinner with a new boss, even though it made me feel like a demon. I desperately loved seeing my family during the holidays; but telling her I couldn't afford it wasn't an option.

On top of all of this, I was worried about having to be on 'subtly impress' mode while meeting these strangers because really, Christmas was just part two of the interview.

As it turns out, spending Christmas with strangers was the exact opposite of stressful. They were the ones looking to impress me. And with such a big family, it was easy to do. Mr. Carlos' daughter and son were at my beckon call, showing up every few minutes to ask if I needed anything. His wife and mother gave me a tour of the house and showed me the many guest rooms I had the option of occupying if I chose to stay over. His sisters, brothers, nieces, nephews, and cousins were much like my family: loud and appearing in multiples.

The house was enormous. With wood floors, fireplaces, and a Christmas tree in the kitchen, living, and dining rooms. Ceilings were high, curtains were velvety, and pine was on the mantle. Also, there wasn't a rug in sight. I mean rugs could work, but wood floors had always spelled class to me.

As I emerged from a bathroom, a crowd was forming down the hall at the front door. I prayed to the Lord almighty that this was who we'd been waiting for to start dinner. I salivated thinking about everything I'd seen lined up at the table. Ham, turkey, yams, rice and beans, pork, mac and cheese, Potato salad, and that wasn't even counting the many dishes wrapped in tin foil in the kitchen. Mr. Carlos started to excitedly look for me. I could see his head starting to dart about as he stood directly in front the guest of honor; this being his "eldest offspring" as he'd stated earlier. I found myself hoping this guy was—

"Britany!" Mr. Carlos grabbed my hand and spun me towards him. "This is Santana."

—cute.

Ho-ly Shit.

Oh my God Santana Oh my God Santana.

I don't know if it was the spin or the Santana, but I was dizzy. I was not at all struck by the unreadable look from a month ago. Not the one I'd been trying to decipher for weeks. This was different. She was mid-sentence.

"—house and you know how she is, so I'm sorry I'm…" She slowed and smiled. The same smile as her dad; the kind that could easily turn into a laugh. Mr. Carlos got distracted and walked away with her coat and a mountain of guests. I almost wanted to turn away again. I was embarrassed. There were still random relatives milling about.

"Hi," Santana stepped in as someone finally closed the door behind her.

"Hey," I'd never been a 'hi' kind of girl.

The milling relatives surrounded us and led us to the kitchen.

"So, this is the new employee my dad's crazy about?"

"I-I don't know," I stammered.

She had a very loud laugh. I felt confident in my comical stylings…whatever they might've been… But Jesus. When she laughed her eyes closed, her parted blackberry waves oscillated, and her apple cheeks rouged of their own accord. I quickly caught myself and looked around.

"Brittany, is it?" She said, drawing my attention back to her.

"Yes."

We had reached the kitchen.

"Nice to meet you."


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: And here's an extra chapter…the other one was short and light on the Brittana, I know. So you deserve this!

/

3.

I pulled my smile away from hers yet again and pretended to be distracted by the commotion around us…yet again. I honestly shouldn't have had to pretend. The growing din rivaled that of a swarm of banshees. The kitchen was about the size of my entire apartment, yet the mass of family spilled into connecting rooms. They intentionally positioned themselves shoulder to shoulder as they attempted to gather.

I had completely forgotten about this. My shoulder lightly brushed Santana's as she straightened out and turned to a cousin on her other side. Just as I had feared, we were preparing to say grace. My eyes traced the cycle of relatives clasping hands and I looked down to see Santana's hand extended nonchalantly while her face was still turned away in discussion. I looked around nervously. It wasn't a big deal. It's just…if I thought about what her look did to me, there was no telling what her touch…in front of all these people… might ignite. I might squeal! I might throw up…I might never let go? I tried to will my own hand up and out to initiate reciprocation of a hand hold, but was fortuitous in having five chunky little fingers grab on to my one index finger instead. Santana looked down as she felt the same, then looked back up at me for a quick glance. The child holding a finger each beamed up at us.

"Are we going to Toys R US after?" He asked.

"Matt," Santana chuckled, "it's Christmas."

"Santa lives at Toys R Us," he mumbled.

The child was angelic, with big eyes that were silver in some light and maple in others; a disarming smile that had his first two "adult teeth" growing in bottom front and center. He would be the one saying grace. Thanking "Baby Jesus" for Spiderman, asking for a Toys R US closer to the train, and after his litany got through the names of all his schoolmates—during which his lids were intensely fastened to one another, else he might've noticed a glare from his mother and burgeoning smiles from the rest—he concluded his prayer with a squeeze of my finger, and presumable Santana's, saying,

"And bless the T.V. because that's where I get to see my Santana more than ever. She sings like your angels, Amen."

All impatience was abruptly deemed invalid in light of this last statement. Unaware of the weight of his words, Matt sprinted past the fawning adults and led the rest of the very little ones to the many steaming dishes. Matt's mother took her son's spot and put an arm around us each.

"That boy loves his Santana," She said, looking in my direction. Santana rolled her eyes playfully.

"It's because I let him make his own sandwiches."

Matt's mother swatted Santana's bottom. "I should makeyou pay me to babysit!" She then turned to me, "Do you know she let him put three different kinds of condiments on frozen waffles?"

Santana crossed her arms and smirked, "There was celery involved…he made some good choices that day."

"I have to say," I ventured, "As an experienced babysitter, the Fear Factor lunch can often be a life saver."

"Honey, no." Matt's mother laughed and walked away muttering, "Only children."

Santana smiled and winked at me.

I furrowed my brow and shot her a sidelong glance. I was pretty sure I'd met her two siblings just moments ago. Santana simply shot me back the same look adding a smirk and omitting any explanation.

I ate my delicious meal flanked by Matt and another little cousin named Mike; he couldn't have been much older than Matt.

"Lady," Mike said suddenly. "I can sing like angels too."

"No he can't." Matt closed his eyes and quickly shook his head matter-of-factly.

I nearly spit out my yams.

"MATT!" Mike stomped and turned towards me pleadingly, "I can!"

"Oh, I believe it." I said through bites. Matt sighed and put down his plate.

"Watch." He said, grabbing Mike's hand and pulling him off the bench we were all sharing. They stood side by side facing me.

"You're my pumpkiiiiin," They sang in unison, "Piiiieeeeee. Everybodyyyyy taaaalllkkksss…"

Mr. Carlos and Santana replaced the children who'd once surrounded me.

"Ooh this is my jam!" Mr. Carlos nudged me with a grin. Santana leaned in and whispered, "Here's the best part."

Everyone sang the last line.

"And loves you! Loves you! Loves you! That's whyyyyyyyy!"

The room erupted in cackles. I was still recovering from Santana's voice in my ear.

"I wrote that." Matt shrugged sitting on Santana's lap.

"It's a family favorite," Mr. Carlos said, grabbing Mike and pulling him in for a tickle.

"Can I purchase it on ITunes?" I asked Matt.

"Soon, " he said breathlessly as Santana squeezed him tight, pressing her cheek into his. Matt wrestled from her clutches and ran off excitedly. Mr. Carlos turned to me.

"Having a good time?

"No sir." I said, unable to control the rising at the corners of my mouth. Santana snorted.

"She's going to fit right in." Mr. Carlos said nodding and lifting a brow.

"No sir. She's too good for y'all." Santana quipped. Matt skipped up to Santana holding a microphone.

"Your turn," he said.

"Oh, I can't sing 'You're my Pumpkin Pie', Pal. That's your song." She said.

The endless parade of family found its way into this particular room expecting a show.

"No Sannie," he said, pointing to the Karaoke machine.

"Hmm," she said, squinting a bit. "I think Brittany wants a turn."

I nearly fell off the bench attempting to escape and said,

"Oh no, no, no. I don't sing."

"Please Brittany!" Santana said, unconvinced. "With a speaking voice like that? You're not fooling anybody."

Mr. Carlos chuckled as I looked to him for support. Santana slipped her hand in mine and led me to the kitchen. My mind raced. A speaking voice like what? What does that mean? She wasn't wrong. I loved to sing…I just made it a habit to sing in empty rooms. And then there was this soft hand in mine…but just as quickly as it came, it left. She lined up four shots of Tequila.

"Santana!" I said whispering roughly, "what are you doing?" I started packing away the shots. She stopped me, laughing uncontrollably.

"Relax, relax. Two for me," she began pouring, "and two for you."

I started pacing and mumbling to myself, "I'm fired. She's going to get me fired…"

"Alright Desi—"

I shot her a look.

"Arnaz? No? Okay. Well here. This'll get you singing." She held out a shot.

"I can not be drinking in front of my boss! Do you know—"

"Britt. Do you see my dad in this room?"

I actually stopped and looked around. Then realized it had always only been us two.

"No, but—"

"Do you think he's sober?"

"Doesn't—"

"Do you think anyone else in there is?"

"Matt and Mike…" I muttered.

A loud "Ha!" escaped her lips and I couldn't stop a smirk from creeping onto mine. She passed me a shot glass, but I held it hesitantly.

"…Are you?" I asked, timidly

"What? Sober?"

"Yeah."

"Well duh. Who am I going to drink with? We're the only ones over 21 and under 100 here."

I shook my head with a pout. "I don't know, man."

"Look, " she said taking hold of my left hand with her right. Both of us holding a shot in our free hand.

"Singing for my family will you give you so many brownie points. Even if you couldn't sing—which I know is not this case—we would insist on it. My dad loves that you're audacious…so show him what you've got."

"Oh gosh," I looked at her and brought the drink to my lips. She squeezed my hand. The familiar scent of Tequila put me in a good place and I downed it. It felt good; the burn, the taste.

"Mmmm," said Santana rubbing her belly sarcastically.

I rolled my eyes and whined, "But why two?"

She handed me the second shot and frowned.

"Brittany. We just ate like ten meals. One shot's like a drop in the ocean at this point."

"You know, exaggeration killed the cat."

"Uh…I don't think…anyway I'm not exaggerating. I bet you feel exactly the same as you did before the shot."

"Yes, but—"

"Exactly. One more'll give you the buzz you need."

I slowly put my second shot down and began to wonder a bit. It must've been written on my face because Santana looked at me the same way she might look at Matt.

"What?" She said with a half smile.

"Nothing."

"Brittany, you look positively perplexed."

"This is a test, isn't it?"

"Really?"

"It's my first driving exam all over again! I failed! I'm failing! I failed!" I was flailing by this point. When I panic, I tend to go from 0 to 60...unlike when I drive. Santana spit out the alcohol she'd been sipping sporadically directly on to my face. I gasped.

"Sorry!" She searched for a kitchen towel, still in a fit of laughter. I couldn't help but join her. We doubled over as she attempted to dab my face—missing and instead catching my open mouth or poking my closed eyes. I pulled her hand away with both of mine and we stood there trembling with cackles. I didn't know I had been so anxious; I only felt it as it left me in laughter. It was liberating. We sighed simultaneously and I sat while she remained standing beside me. She lazily grabbed a loose tendril from my head and played with it.

"This is no test, I promise. But…" She paused, slowly tucking the tendril behind my ear. "I do have selfish motives... I've been dying to hear you sing ever since your syrupy 'Hey' at the door."

With her hand behind my ear, her eyes gazing sleepily into mine, and a newfound freedom; I snatched my second Tequila shot off the counter, drank, and slammed it down victoriously. Santana began to applaud…until she noticed my lifted brow and tilted smile. Again, she returned the expression.

"What?"

"Uh, I believe you're up." With my index finger I pushed the lone shot glass to her.

She raised her brows, challenging me.

"Go on," I said, putting my head down and waving my hand at her, as if to say 'shoo'.

"Now wait a minute," she said just as the glass grazed her lips. "Are you testing me?"

I was happily surprised, "Are you mocking me?" I responded. She finally imbibed and nodded with an "Mhm."

"Ok, Ok, Ok." Santana said, shaking off the effects. "Now, I think we better get back." She stood me up and straightened out my clothes, pretending to dust me off. I playfully swatted her hands away. That, of course, turned into another fit of laughter. As we walked back to the family, she slumped on my shoulder and confessed,

"Britt, I shouldn't have taken those in-between sips."

"Gulps. In –between gulps."

She hooted into my ear.

Before we encountered the rest of the family, it was my turn to straighten her out.

"Now Santana! You have to be cool. If they see you like this, they'll assume I'm tipsy too."

"But you're fine," She grabbed another loose tendril from my head. I swatted her hand away again.

"No." I whispered, "I'm actually buzzed, but I'm also awesome at this game."

She gave me a sweet smile.

"So," I continued, my resolve crumbling and my pout morphing into an unrelenting grin. "Just help me pull this off, 'kay? We've been gone a bit and the last thing I want is to make a bad impression."

Suddenly, she pulled me in for a hug, but before puling away there came a rasp in my ear, "And the last thing we want is people talking." She shoved off and sauntered into the full room. I steadied myself on a wall, said a prayer and exhaled as I entered.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Hope you're enjoying the story. This chapter is kind of a 2 in 1. You get two pretty big events for the price of one…well actually there's no price at all…reading's free. :)

/

4.

I was not given the privilege of sneaking in unnoticed. In fact, I walked in to a standing ovation. Santana approached me with an ear-to-ear grin, slipping the mic into my hands and whispering, "Kill it."

Well how could I 'kill it' if I wasn't sure what I'd be singing?

A sample blared from the Karaoke machine and I swiftly wished I didn't know the song. I actually pretended I didn't; pleading with the crowd to change it, but they roared over my protests and I found myself in the midst of the least appropriate tune in karaoke-with-your-bosses'-family history. Nonetheless, I performed.

This had always been one of my favorite songs and I danced just like I would in my room, or the bathroom…or while I did the dishes. But I toned it down a bit. I didn't grab my crotch, I only gently krumped, and I tried desperately not to thrust. As usual, they were impressed that I could dance at all. I get that a lot. People don't expect me to have rhythm and I really love to surprise them. I knew all the words…unfortunately the song says 'sexy' about a million times and Ms. Jackson kinda mentions being "heavy like a first day period", but I moonwalked through all that so they probably couldn't hear the words over their own hollering.

I was well received to say the least. And yet, flames of embarrassment licked my face upon finishing. It could have been because I'd locked eyes with Santana while flipping my hair, and she was mouthing the lyrics just as they chanted 'sexy'... or maybe it was the fact that I had just danced provocatively in front of my employer…and his mom and stuff…

Mr. Carlos rushed forward to keep the rest at bay when they began to attack me with cheers and hugs.

"Ladies and Gentlemen! Back! Back up! This here's mynew protégé—you animals!"

After a bit, the excitement died down and I was comfortably nestled between an aunt and an uncle watching others take the stage. Family hadn't felt this nice in a while. Things had changed and mine wasn't like this anymore. I recognized the way adults and children seemed to meet in the middle and act the same age. I had missed seeing tenderness from generation to generation. When was the last time my entire family gathered in one room?

I honestly didn't want to, but I crawled through the sea of sitting relatives and told Mr. Carlos that the last train back was in an hour. And at the risk of sounding ungrateful, I had to refuse the multiple offers to stay in a guest room because after the song and the tequila; I felt it was time to play it safe for the first time all night.

I found myself waiting pitifully in the foyer as Mr. Carlos looked for his keys. Matt approached, dragging his feet and looking at the ground.

"Hey hey!" I said happily.

"You're not gonna sleepover?"

"No. I'm sorry."

"But I am. We could stay up and tell jokes…" He whined.

"Matty, don't do this to me."

"She'll be back," a voice floated in and I couldn't hide my giddiness.

"Will I?" I looked up to find Santana leaning against a doorway.

"There's always New Years…I mean…are you going back to New York in a week?"

I had completely forgotten.

"…I uh, I guess not."

"And no one wants to ring in the New Year alone, right Matt?" Santana looked at me as she finally stepped in to the room and held the boys' shoulders. He giggled.

"Right Matt?" She repeated. He wouldn't stop giggling. Santana and I were officially intrigued. He inched toward me with Santana still in tow; tears of joy welling in his eyes. . They stood in front of me and all Matt could do was weakly point up, so I carried him. He was a tall five-year-old, so it wasn't easy.

"Well, what is it Matt?"

He continued to point up as his laugh escalated and all three of us looked up.

"Oh Matt!" I jostled him in my arms playfully. "Mistletoe?"

Santana pinched his ribs.

"You don't want a kiss from me." I informed him.

"Yes." He said, nodding.

"Why not?" Santana teased. I scrunched my nose at her.

"You need lip logs?" He asked earnestly. Santana hissed through a laugh. I remained confused.

"Lip Gloss," she explained.

"Oh. Oh—yes. Yes." I ran a finger across my lips. "They're dry." He took the liberty of reaching over for himself. "Feels soft… Santana touch."

My eyes widened, but hers ballooned to double size.

"Matt. That's rude." She nearly yelled.

"No it's not. Touch!" He begged. Santana simply pulled his hand away. He furrowed his brow and asked, "She's not your friend?"

"She is," Santana said awkwardly.

"So touch. It's okay, Sannie. She's nice." He twisted and slung the arm that wasn't around my neck, around her neck. We were clasped in a strange little huddle. Santana smiled weakly at him just before her gaze drifted to me. I quickly kissed Matt's cheek and nearly dropped him to the ground nervously.

He started to walk away with his hands on his cheeks and a broad smile then he abruptly turned back to us.

"Oh I forgot! I came to give you this." It was a tiny box in green wrapping paper.

"What is that, Matt?" Santana folded her arms with a smile.

"It's my smallest gift. For you." He extended the gift a full arms length in my direction. Before I could finish my 'thank you', he ran out.

My eyes fell to my purse, in an effort to put the gift away and avoid a certain stare, but I wasn't spared.

"Thanks for coming Brittany."

"I'm pretty sure I should be thanking you guys...I crashed Christmas Eve." I said, still rifling through my purse.

"Well," she paused until I finally looked up. "I'm glad I met you."

"Actually—" I started.

"Alright Brittany, we're off." Mr. Carlos emerged jingling his keys.

"Actually what?" Santana grabbed my elbow as I turned to leave.

"Merry Christmas." I whispered and was whisked way by Mr. Carlos. Santana was beaming when I turned back for one last glimpse.

"See you New Years' Eve!" She yelled, making sure her father heard.

/

It had only been 3 days since Christmas Eve and I suppose I shouldn't have expected to start working before the New Year, but I couldn't help wondering if Santana had informed her father of my alcohol consumption…or maybe the song had been too much. What was I thinking? How could I ever have justified that choice? I even started doubting my motives for leaving my last job…did the going get tough? And did I not get going? Wait, I did get going…so if the 'going gets tough and the tough get going'…do the tough just leave? Was I being tough? Or was I just running blindly into—

Her voice was in my ear again.

"…Could get you over here." It said.

I choked on my Cheerios and nearly dropped the phone. "Wh-what?" I'd forgotten to listen until then.

"You caught me. It was my idea."

"The uh…?" I grasped at nothing.

"Getting you over here. Helping you move?"

"Oh?"

"Well, Ms. Listening Skills, I was merely recommending that I rent a van, drop your shit off at your new place in L.A. then bring you to my Dad's again for New Years."

"You know…I was…"

"Was it hard finding an apartment?"

No because I hadn't looked.

"Nope."

"Oh Okay. I guess I'll see you the 31st. Bright and early." She was way too excited to see my non-existent apartment.

"I…um…"

"I'll be at another party though…" Her tone had changed slightly. "After our mini road trip."

I had nothing to say. No apartment and no way of getting out of another party at my boss's house. The conversation continued as she tripped over my awkward silence. I somehow managed a 'thank you' and some sort of pick up confirmation. Hanging up, I found myself in a more precarious state than when I'd known nothing at all.

New Years' Eve arrived and I couldn't think of anything I'd rather be doing less than moving. I had some verydistant friends of friends of friends who I'd been tracking down in the past weeks. It was not easy. How could I let these people—who barely knew me—know that I needed them to get back to me immediately without scaring them off? Well, I didn't let them know. I tried to play it cool…so they responded only hours before Santana was supposed to pick me up. I kept it vague and told them when I'd be dropping my things off; assuring them it'd only be a few days…of course, with my current lease being terminated, that would turn out to be a blatant lie; but they didn't have to know that. It wasn't like me to be deceitful, but I had impressions to make and if I didn't look like I had my shit together, I could lose everything.

So now Santana would see my semi-fake apartment.

That was all that really mattered. There was no way I'd be able to pull this thing off without at least that. I could continue to be nebulous with both my family and friends back home, but Santana was the only person who would be witnessing my actual situation and could potentially Ruin. Everything.

The only reason I let her in the apartment was that everything was already packed. Any other time I would be far too self-conscious about the never-ending life tornado that left clothes, bags, and food strewn about every room. I barely noticed her entrance. I was taping the last box shut. When I finally looked up, there in the doorway, once again blocking the sun…

She wore sweatpants and a white tank. Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun…come to think of it we were wearing strikingly similar outfits. I, of course, stopped what I was doing and stared, mouth agape. She smiled behind her very large sunglasses—the kind I'd always deemed ridiculous.

"How are you not done packing?" She lifted the shades and looked down at me. "And why is your door open?"

I closed my mouth and cleared my throat. "It's hot," was all I could muster.

"Is that your answer to both questions?"

I nodded, standing up and wiping my knees. I finally smiled and remembered myself.

"You thirsty? All I've got left in the fridge is water…the rest of the snackies are packed."

"Rest of the what?"

"Snackies? People don't call them that?"  
"Not the ones over 4, no." She said smirking.

I shrugged, "Let's get to movin' then."

"But wait," she touched my arm as I began to walk away, "…I still want water."

I chose not to face her, in order to avoid revealing my blush, and simply detoured to the kitchen. I started to laugh.

"What?" She smiled.

"All the cups are packed. You're going to have to pour it into your mouth."

Slowly realizing what I was saying, I began to turn around and desperately look or a cup. I didn't think I could survive watching a pour…

"Britt," She said before I could complete my turn. How was she already holding the Brita?

"There's only a drop left." She teased, beginning to pour the remaining water into her mouth as she glanced at me. This time my eyes were saucers. The water cascaded into her mouth; splashing on to supple lips and sliding down her chin on to her shirt and chest.

"Y-you're making a mess." I choked. She laughed with full cheeks and wiped her chin with her free hand.

"Napkins?" She asked; swallowing and starting to pack the now empty Brita. I made my way to the bathroom in a frenzy looking for the one face cloth I thought I'd left out, so she could wipe her face. Finally, I stopped and took a breath. She had me frazzled. I'd been thinking about her ever since I'd last seen her and I still didn't know what our initial 'staring contest' meant. To me, that look was…everything. No one, not a single one of the boys who'd claimed to be 'in love' with me, had ever so much as spoken what that look said…whatever that was…And here she was with her gorgeous self…all honey skin and cherry lips everywhere…Not to mention I'd seen her on TV just a few nights ago (before the cable got cut off). I still wasn't over the fact that my favorite character from my favorite show was helping me move. God she was sexy too. I gasped out loud at the thought.

"What?" She glanced up, hearing my gasp. She had found a stray paper towel and was wiping the top of her tank…right…by…the cleavage. She smirked following my gaze. I clenched my jaw and looked away. We began packing the rental van. Maybe it was being in a small space. Yes, moving in and out of the apartment made for easy conversation and sarcastic silliness; I remembered how to behave…until I realized that a van is much smaller than an apartment. Oh gosh and I wasn't even driving, so there was no distraction. Well…except for that distraction. Luckily, she was wearing sweatpants.

"Bummer though, huh?"

A few minutes into our trip and I'd already forgotten how to listen again. She rolled her eyes at my glazed expression.

"Getting roommates…That's gonna suck after living alone."

"Oh," I dropped my gaze. She noticed peripherally and furrowed her brow at the road.

"What? Did you forget something?"

"No." I said, embarrassed.

"What's wrong?"

"It's stupid actually…I'm just relieved." I whispered honestly.

She peeked at me for a second, concerned. Attempting to explain, I continued,

"I'm kinda glad…to have roommates."

Now she was smiling. I pulled my chin down and looked up at her with a smirk.

"Stop." I said.

"What? You're cute." She chuckled.

"You're patronizing me," I pouted playfully.

"No. I swear! It's sweet that you miss having roommates."

"It's not 'cause I want them to tuck me in or anything, jeeze."

Her laughter rang through the van. "Then why the relief?" She asked, calming down.

"Please don't laugh…bearing my soul here."

"You've got my word."

"I think living alone has brought out my overwhelming fear of intruders."

She began to vibrate in her seat, attempting to stifle a laugh.

"Hey! I have scary nightmares! They're terrifying!" I began to smile.

"I'm sure, Britt."

"Okay. Listen to this: There's some guy in my house…and it looks like he's going to walk by my door…then he just walks right in!" I turn to her for dramatic effect.

She gasped with a smile and put her hand to her chest dramatically. "I guess I had to be there."

"Yes, you had to be there…in my dreams…." I trailed off knowing it sounded ridiculous, but enjoying her laughter.

We arrived at Koreatown in Hollywood. It was nice….enough. The apartment entrance was curved around a strip mall. I thought I saw Santana give me a look, but I didn't want her opinion. I began to walk to the trunk until she grabbed my wrist.

"Why don't we run upstairs and see if they can help us bring shit up?"

"Uh…"

As we made our way to the lobby of the building, I frantically checked my text messages for the apartment number. On our elevator ride to the 5th floor, I subtly tried to convince Santana not to witness the impending debacle. I told her to wait by the car and lied that these people were weird about visitors—which kind of backfired because she began to question their motives for letting me stay. We reached the front door and I had pretty much done everything but call Santana ugly to get her away, but she just shoved me and shook her head. I began to sweat. These people barely knew me. Normally, I could handle awkward, but if Santana saw and told her dad…it was just a mess. A mess that I'd simply have to charm and maneuver my way out of.

I hadn't counted on my secret weapon

I completely forgot who I was with. The friends of friends of friends (Blaine and Kurt) screamed. Actually screamed. They saw Santana and lost it. I had forgotten that she wasn't just a star in my eyes. Her show was what most would call a guilty pleasure and her character, while a fan favorite, had just been promoted to a B storyline. So she was recognizable, but not so famous that paparazzi were on her ass.

Kurt and Blaine basically hoisted me on their shoulders and rolled out the red carpet as if I were famous by association. Santana smiled and took it all in stride. But as soon as we were back by the car and waiting for Blaine to come down, she blurted,

"You're not staying here."

My mind reeled. "Wha?"

"You are not staying here," she said matter-of-factly.

"Okay Mom, " I snapped. "What's the problem?"

"These people barely know you! And they certainly have made no accommodations for your stuff."

"They gave—"

"A couch?" She interrupted, knowing what I was going to say. "A couch? They did not make space for your shit. For Christ's' sake you have a mattress in the van! Do they even know your name? I was listening for it; don't think I heard it once."

"We were introduced via email." I mumbled with my head down.

"Britt, you are going to be working. Is that what you want to come home to?" She said, softening a bit. Then she nonchalantly announced, "You'll stay with me."

I had dreaded this. Though I have to admit, I assumed it might happen with her father making the offer, but this wasn't any less embarrassing. I shook my head ferociously and she simply repeated my name in response. Blaine came skipping down in the middle of this insanity.

"What's up?" He said, still gawking at Santana.

"Brittany just got a call back from an apartment and she feels guilty taking it, now that…well, you know…" Santana let the lie roll off of her tongue. I shot daggers in her direction with my glare. Blaine began to shake his head with a smile and put an arm around me.

"Hey, congrats! Where is it?"

"By me." Interjected Santana, shooting daggers right back at me. Blaine began to squeeze me into a hug.

"No need to feel bad, buddy. We're here when you need us, 'kay?"

Soon, I was watching he and Kurt waving from the rearview mirror with my arms crossed in the passengers' seat of the moving van.

"You really are a child you know." Santana said, lifting a brow.

"Damnit Santana," I said fumbling with my seatbelt.

"I know it's rough for you to take help…I get it. It's like with the Tequila shots…you don't really trust—"

"Tequila shots?" I shot her a puzzled expression. She laughed as we slowed to a red light. Then I remembered; Christmas. The memory soothed my temper…a bit.

"Santana, you've got to turn around. I'm not staying with my boss's daughter."

"Is that what it is?"

"Of course that's what it is! You're talking about them barely knowing me, but what do you know? And how am I going to come home from work and complain about my day to my boss's kid?" The words tumbled out as if by logorrhea. I almost regretted it. Until after about 5 full minutes of silence, a Cheshire grin crept onto her face.

"What?" I asked carefully.

"I was just thinking…"

"What?"

"I mean…I have an alarm system."

"So?" I said, growing annoyed.

"At the very least you'll stop having those nightmares." She looked at me for a second with such kind eyes, almost batting her lashes. And I couldn't say no. I just sighed with a defeated smile.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Thank you so much for the kind words! Keep letting me know what you think :)

5.

When we got to Santana's, I received a call from my mom.

She had become uncharacteristically passive aggressive when I moved away from home, but more so since I'd left my job. Up until then, every single part of my life had gone according to some plan that I knew nothing about and now that I was going 'rogue', I had something to prove. Mom wasn't going to make it easy. Sure, she knew of the stacks of notebooks under my bed that I'd filled with poems and plays; but writing was just a silly hobby, she maintained. This was the reason I'd rather be homeless than ask for help. If she saw me slip, even just a little bit; she'd never take me seriously...I remember a time when she was the only one who did. That was before she felt me slipping away. Before I'd stumbled upon the condition in a love that I'd thought was unconditional.

I sat on the low stone steps outside of the house and hung up. Santana had basically unloaded all my stuff from the van by herself. Granted it was only about 3 suitcases and a garbage bag full of books, but still. I almost turned to start helping with the mattress, but the tears were welling in my eyes. I heard my name from inside her house and I knew I couldn't respond without blubbering. I needed to be alone. So I walked in slow motion and cried until I reached a coffee house. I meant to hold it until I got inside, but instead, I stood outside and blinked out tears. It was like I wasn't crying at all; I just stood there blinking. I was hot though. My skin was on fire.

Suddenly, I felt a punch on my right arm as a familiar figure appeared in front of me. I flopped at the impact and a few more tears spilled. I saw Santana suddenly realize my state. She shook me. Pushed me. Yelled. Finally, I spoke.

"Stop," I said, wiping my eyes with the knuckles of my hands.

"What is this?" She asked, shrugging.

"J-just gimme a minute, ok?"

"…Acting like Cameron Frye…" She said under her breath and put her hands in her pockets.

I recognized her Ferris Beuller reference and chuckled as I turned away to get myself together.

"I heard that, " she said and I could imagine the smirk on her face.

I turned to face her with red eyes and a sad smile.

"You don't have to live with me, " She said digging her hands deeper in to her pockets. I laughed pretty loudly at that and shook my head saying, "Sorry…that was embarrassing."

I led us back towards her house and she followed in silence.

"My, uh, my mom's driving me crazy…she hates that I took this job. I really can't stand when she disapproves of what I do…it's never really happened before."

Santana continued to walk behind me wordlessly. So I continued,

"I know…I'm a baby. I don't care. I miss making her proud…I miss us being ok." I felt a hand in mine; it yanked me to a stop before slipping away.

"This is me, " she gestured to the house on her left and my right. I turned to face it.

I suppose I hadn't taken it all in before. It was white with a red Spanish tile roof and bay windows. There was a big yard, but it wasn't ostentatious. It was absolutely perfect. I was mesmerized and Santana had started saying things about how it was okay to do your own thing.

"People catch up, " she said, looking at the side of my face as I continued to look at the house. "They don't get it at first; following your heart…taking risks, I mean….but just give your mom time. She's just worried. You were in a pretty stable environment there…I don't blame her for being scared." She smiled and rubbed my back then pushed me down the walkway. "Now come on, Babygirl."

She had such a charming foyer. There were stone tiles of all sizes under my feet. The kitchen was spacious, and again, not a rug in sight. Every room was infused with modern Spanish architecture. But there was one room…the only guest room on the same floor as the master bedroom. This particular guestroom had hangers in the closet, towels by the foot of the bed, and a robe folded neatly over the pillows.

"Wait a minute…" I turned to her with a crease in my brow. She beamed at me.

"Yes?"

"Santana…you couldn't have known I was going to agree to stay with you?"

"Please," she waved a hand, "the only time I hear 'no' is after the question 'Do you want me to stop?'"

She shrugged with a smug frown and continued the tour. We put my mattress in her room because she thought it was hilarious. My room already had a bed, obviously, so I recommended putting it in the cellar. Santana wasn't hearing it. She wouldn't stop laughing. Not when she handed me a towel, not after I got out of the shower; only when she got out of the shower did she come downstairs with a smile and just a few chuckles.

"Go—lly!" I said turning from the stove. "I thought the laughs would never end."

She sighed as she entered the kitchen.

"Mmm yes, well. I have an extra random bed in my room. It cracks me the hell up. Can't help it."

"Why is it so funny?"

"It looks nothing like anything else in my room…and it's just chillin' in there…"

I turned to her. She looked relaxed and clean.; midnight curls raining down her shoulders and wearing an old sweatshirt with cheer shorts. She smirked at me and ran her eyes over my pajama pants and jersey.

"What's cookin'?..." She started.

"Don't say it…" I pleaded.

"…Good lookin'?"

"Come ooon…don't say that."

"Why not?" She crept closer, standing next to me by the stove. As she stared at the saucer I took her in. She smelled like fresh fruit.

"Because…" I attempted.

She turned and we simply held a stare. It was so familiar.

"It's corny," I finally finished and dropped my eyes to the stove, turning off the flame.

"It's not corny if I actually want to know what you're cooking." She retorted.

"I'm making you dinner."  
"Mmm. I love omelets." She perched her chin on my shoulder and inhaled. "You smell like Pantene," she mumbled.

"It's uh…"I gulped, "It's all I know how to make…well this and flounder, but I didn't want to go snooping—"

"Thank you." She wrapped her arms around my waist and hugged me from behind.

I closed my eyes. She was positively intoxicating. Cute and sexy. Funny and so beautiful. There was a certain confidence and authenticity that hypnotized me. She was the kind of person everyone wanted to be around. But then add a butterscotch complexion, long legs, and the face of an angel; she became irresistible….

"OH MY GOD!" I opened my eyes and sprang out of her embrace.

"What!" She said; her eyes dreamy as if they too had been closed.

"I…burned….my …hand." I made up an excuse as I glanced around the room.

"But the fire's—"

"Let's eat."

We ate on the couch without turning on the T.V. I thanked her for helping me move and housing me. She thanked me for dinner and praised my generous sprinkling of cheddar. We laughed about the homeless guy who called us 'Beyonce' and 'Gaga' at the McDonald's around Oceanside, and discussed whether it would be safe to finish the breakfast burritos we'd bought this morning, tomorrow.

"Well it's good hangover food," Santana shrugged.

"Oh, no drinking for me tonight."

"Uh, good luck convincing my dad on that one."

"Oh shit. It's New Years' Eve."

"Indeed. And we actually have to start getting ready. Dad's expecting you by 10."

"But I'm tired," I whined, fumbling with some egg crumbles on my plate.

"Trust me, Honey, I'd much rather—"

I flashed her a glance. "Honey?" I cocked a brow.

"Yes. Anyway…Believe me, I'm exhausted and mom doesnot play when it comes to New Years Eve."

"Um…why aren't you coming to your dads'?

"Well he got Christmas, so…"

"So you're picking up your brother and sister when you drop me off?"

"Um…no."

"They don't spend time with their mom?"

"Ohhhh," she shook her head. "My mom's not their mom. No. We're half siblings. I'm technically an only child."

"I've got a half brother," I said smiling. "He's actually the best."

"You guys are close?" She asked innocently.

"Yeah."

"So…you're close in age?"

"No. Actually he's only 16. And I really only got to know him when he was 10…it wasn't even weird though. Helike, really loves me. Like a real big sister."

She smiled sadly. "What'd you do?"

"We just hung out a lot. Apparently, nothing before 10 years old really matters. He pretty much acts like I was always there…I didn't even do much, but he has these memories that I don't even…" I stopped because I noticed that her smile faded and she was just kind of sad.

"Sorry," I frowned. "Are you guys not that close?"

"No… I don't really know how to make it feel like the time didn't pass."

I got up to clear our plates and left her on the couch. Then, after putting them in the sink I peered at her from the kitchen.

"At least you talk to your dad…and your mom doesn't hate you." I said with a half smile.

She shrugged and went upstairs to change. In a little bit, I did the same.

Santana emerged wearing a skintight red dress. One could see everything. It had a scoop neck and three quarter length sleeves, so it was still 'family friendly', but good Lord I could see her obliques. Raven locks were half pinned back and the rest fell on her collarbone and shoulders. I wore a scandalously short black one-strap dress and had curled large ringlets at the bottom of my hair so it stayed at my shoulders.

"Your dress is uh…you've got like…" She mumbled licking her lips.

"We have to get out of here," I said holding back a smile, but when I looked back to give her the 'come on' head tilt, I caught her staring at me the same way I had stared at her this morning; except her mouth was not agape, it was smirking knowingly. I quickly faced forward as if I'd seen nothing—though I don't think she was trying to hide it.

The drive to her father's was the longest 22 minutes of my life. She was not wearing sweatpants and so I fell victim to those legs. She reached for change in the glove compartment and her knuckles skimmed my knees. My breath hitched and my leg twitched involuntarily. I didn't dare look at her. She dropped me off and I barely said 'bye'.

Mr. Carlos' house had been transformed into some sort of lounge. There was soft lighting, no children (which I was slightly sad about….I was hoping to see Matt), and servers with champagne. I met some of my co-workers; a tall one, a blond one, and a frat boy. They were actually pretty cool and goofy. We got to know each other and laughed until just before the ball dropped. That's when their jokes got lame and I realized they were all drunk. I found myself hearing everyone countdown from the kitchen as I grazed the refrigerator. I closed the door, but was just as soon slammed up against it. Deep dark eyes captured mine. Her fingers slipped up the back of my neck into my fallen curls. Those plump lips were so succulent and so close to mine. I took the bottom one softly in both of mine, bit it, licked it, and then gently kissed the top one. "You're so beautiful." I said into her mouth and just kept repeating it. I snuck my arms inside her embrace and brought my hands to her face. I pulled away just a bit and stroked her perfect jaw line with my thumbs as I finally took the freedom to openly gaze into those black pearls. She smiled and I saw my sentiment reflected in those dimples. So I kissed them both. "Mmmm," she hummed. We could've stayed that way forever. And we should've. But drunkards started filing in attaching themselves to our hug, screaming "Happy New Year!" and making the most of their noisemakers. While in the huddle of masses, Santana snuck in a few more chaste pecks to my lips. I didn't even care. I was drunk off of her and I just wanted to be this close. As people pulled away, we reluctantly did the same.

Hours later, things had calmed. No one left, but people were sleeping, chatting belligerently, and pretty much loitering everywhere. Mr. Carlos had not gotten over Santana's surprise appearance. I'm pretty sure I saw him tearing up.

"Happy New Year, Mr. Carlos." I said to him around 3am. He sighed and put his hands on his hips. It made me snicker because he looked like a proud momma instead of a proud poppa.

"I can't believe she's here," he beamed. I smiled back. He hopped on to the island counter in the kitchen as he spoke. "She's always chosen her mom over me…and I totally get it. Trust me. I just always wanted to ring in the New Year with all my babies. Like a new start. I don't think her mom ever got that. I mean beggars can't be choosers, right? Santana doesn't owe me sh—a thing. And I know Christmas is huge…but I'd always wanted her for new years."

"You're a great dad," I said honestly.

He shook his head and smiled sadly. "Not always. She was my first little girl and I left her. I got scared. She's been so good to me, though. Letting me back in…I talk about her to all these people. Even before all this fame and stuff, I used to brag about her spelling bees…now I finally get to show her off. I never thought she'd give me this." He grabbed one of my wrists and squeezed it lovingly. "I don't know what you've done…"

I was caught off guard, so naturally, I choked on my own saliva, "What?" I coughed, "Me? I've only been here a week."

He rubbed my shoulders laughing. "I'm not dumb, Sweetheart. Don't you remember your interview? All you did was talk about your mom and your brother. And all Santana does is talk bout you…it's obvious. You've turned my girl around."

I wanted to say something. Something about how she'd done the same for me. But I was scared I'd say too much…so I said nothing at all.

"Don't be so modest," he said hopping off of the counter and punching my shoulder lightly, much in the fashion of his daughter.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: So sorry about getting off schedule, have only had internet access on my phone, but I think I may have found a way around that :) enjoy!

BooThang: The pleasure is all mine, thanks for reading!

Thank you all!

6.

The next morning, Santana and I drove back to her house. She was elated.

"They're funny!" She raved. "And my brother's the snarky little asshole I used to be! I can't believe we never really like, talked until yesterday….You know what they said? They said they thought I hated them!"

I laughed, "What?"

"Yeah. I mean.…I was just trying not to intrude, you know?"

"They're family, San."

"I…never really…I didn't see it that way. I was just trying to make sure they didn't notice when I wasn't there. I thought about it all last night," she said, pulling into her driveway. "… I guess …I thought it didn't mater if I didn't show up…I didn't know…" She paused as she exited the car and opened the door for me.

"Didn't know what?" I said, climbing out.

"They call me their sister," she whispered as we walked to her door.

"Well, what else would they call you?"

"I don't know…it's not like we grew up together…why would they talk about me in the first place? I'm just this inconsistency in their life who shows up when she wants…how do I ever come up in conversation?"

"The same way your dad comes up in your conversations," I shrugged. She furrowed her brow at the comparison she had failed to make.

By this time, we had entered the house. She had plopped on the couch and I headed to the kitchen to grab us some juice boxes. As I handed her one I said,

"You'd be surprised how little you have to do to make an impression," We exchanged a look as I paused. "Plus, they must love to brag about their famous sister."

"They don't even watch the show." She said with a smile, lazily pulling on a loose curl behind my ear. As I sat beside her, I took a deep breath and uttered,

"You're the most amazing thing ever." Her smile grew, so I continued,

"That smile makes me want to hug you every time I see it. I don't want anyone to make you feel like anything less than incredible. Because that's what you are…and so much more, and all I ever want to do is be in your presence."

"Britt, you've been reading tabloids."

"No. Well yes, but that's not why I say that…we kissed. And…I wanted to tell you that you haven't left my thoughts since I first saw you." I had been mumbling the entire speech into my juice box and staring at my knees. She crouched into my line of sight and folded her hands over my lap then put her chin on her own knuckles.

"You were lovely." She said, locking her eyes with mine. "You had this kooky green thermal on."

"That's not what I wore for Christm—" I stopped myself. In fact, I stopped breathing. Her mouth curled up slowly, noticing my reaction.

"And those khakis fit you so well. I'll never forget how cute you looked hopping down those bleachers. You didn't even care that you could wake the dead with all that noise. I saw Mercedes snap her head at you, but you just made this face. Like you didn't take yourself so seriously. I think you said something like 'yikes'. And then the sun was in your face….God you were gorgeous. Your eyes turn into these blue diamonds in the light, did you know that? I couldn't take mine off of you." She ran a thumb across my bottom lip. I kissed it. She stood up, offering me her hand and pulled me into a hug.

"I thought you forgot," I mumbled into her neck. She just held me closer. I kissed her throat and let go. "You're delicious and all, but there will be none of this." I said, gesturing between the two of us.

"Oh no?" She pouted.

I turned away and crossed my arms. "Also, you can't do that in that dress."

"What?" I heard her feign innocence.

"You can't just pout those…lips..." I said still facing away from her. I could feel the smile creep onto her face; she didn't need to say a word. "Just not fair." I finished, heading to bed.

"Then you're not allowed to walk up stairs in that dress…"

I turned and rolled my eyes with a smirk. She just waggled her brows and sipped her juice box.

I dreamt about her that night. She was sitting on a park bench wearing the red dress. There were so many people surrounding her. I recognized that Mercedes girl. There was some rando guy with 'locks, and a bright eyed kid wearing green too, but the rest looked just like my coworkers—old and new. As I approached, they waved. It seemed I knew them, but not Santana. She stood up as I got closer, and I was eternally grateful. The dress still left nothing to the imagination…I mean except for the fact that it was taking place in my imagination… The amalgam of friends introduced us and sang as they floated away. She smiled at me lovingly, so I looked at our hands. I wanted to interlace our fingers so badly. But I didn't get to touch her. Sleep escaped me and I woke up disappointed.

It took me a few minutes to remember why the tangelo colored walls weren't my own. I ran my hands over the quilt then caressed the pillow next to me with the back of my hand and let my eyes flitter to a close. A body slid under the sheets and over mine, mirroring my exact pose. A bent left leg shadowed my right bent leg. A straight right leg lay turned out atop my left one. Fingers slid into my up turned left palm, the arm bent into an L-shape just like mine. More fingers walked down my straightened right arm and spread into that palm. An ear at my chest. Hipbones just above mine. And well…it was so warm in this cocoon. I didn't want to open my eyes. The nose at my collarbone inhaled deeply.

"You didn't say we couldn't do this," She said, kissing under my chin.

"Pretty sure it was implied." I groaned.

I suddenly realized there was a lot of supple skin on mine.

"What're you wearing?" I ventured.

"Mmmm, my old camp shirt," she bit my jaw line softly. I gulped. Hard.

"And?"

"That's it," she said, smiling into another bite. "I mean, undies of course…Calvin Klein, if you must know."

"And?"

"That's all, Honey." She husked.

And I knew that was all because I could feel the evidence poking into my own…evidence. Her left hand snaked over my jersey and cupped my breast as she said, "I see we're in similar outfits."

I gasped and rolled her off of me as she erupted in cackles.

"Mean." I mumbled, rolling onto my back and folding my arms as she lay on her stomach.

"You just looked so adorable, rubbing your hand on the pillow."

"I like to caress soft things with my nails," I murmured.

"Like this?" This time she snuck a hand under my jersey and let her nails drag around my belly button. It was my turn to hum.

"Are you calling my tummy soft?" I cooed, narrowing my eyes at her.

"Well," she perked, hopping to her knees and yanking off the sheets to inspect my uncovered body. I giggled because I was far from cold. That's why I'd taken my pajama pants off some time during the night…oh. My jersey had ridden up to my ribs and she had full view of my—

"Calivn Kleins too, hmm? Perhaps I should've invested in boy shorts…" She said.

"Eyes on the stomach."

"Right. Right. Nope, definitely not soft. Toned? Yes. Sexy little six pack? Absolutely…" A feather light touch ghosted over my hipbone. I flinched.

"Alright, Fresh. No touching."

It was hard to follow my own advice as I looked up at the hottest thing I'd ever seen. I hopped up to my knees as well, which I thought would make the situation less inviting. But I found myself nose to nose with her, guiding an open palm under her ear. I leaned in nice and slow and our thighs kissed as I nibbled on her bottom lip. She took my top lip in hers then moved on to the bottom; sucking it in gently. I turned my head for more access, her tongue teasing mine.

"So fucking sexy," she growled and started to glide her hands down my back. But I pushed her away roughly before she could touch my ass. There was lust in her eyes and she bit her bottom lip.

"No!" I chided, leaping off of the bed.

"No?" She whined.

"No."

"But …I'm Santana Lopez."

I ignored her pout and remained stoic. "It's not a good idea…for so many reasons."

" First of all, you started it…Secondly, name three," She said crossing her arms and sitting at the edge of the bed. I put a hand on my hip and counted on my free hand.

"Bosses daughter, roommate, celebrity."

"So? So? and …thank you." She smiled and took the opportunity to let her eyes flit over my undies and jersey and every part they didn't cover. "You just look so yummy, Britt"

"…Says the most attractive girl in the world," I interrupted. "Listen, I need this job and I need you as my friend. Please. Let me focus on what the hell I'm doing. 'Cause this is all new to me; this state, this industry…I could really use your…your um…your…"

"Go on, say it," she teased.

"Help. I need your help. " I huffed. "I don't know L.A. I don't know anything outside of non profit…so this editing job—"

"Can I hug you?" She looked up at me from the bed.

I frowned and sighed, "Fine."

She got up slowly and ran both hands through my hair, tickled down my shoulders, arms, hands, and back up under my elbows into a tight hug.

"I will take care of you," she said into my ear. I brought my arms around her neck. She gave me a hard close-mouthed kiss as she pushed away with a wink.

"That's a no-no!" I yelled after her.

"You betcha!" She sang from the stairs.

/

It wasn't until the end of the following week that I finally got a start date from Mr. Carlos. I was to begin working Tuesday. Next Tuesday. I reached the house out of breath, and yelled for Santana as I raced through every room. But she wasn't home. I had forgotten that she'd be filming late. So I made dinner and pouted on the couch impatiently. Much later, I was awoken by a soft kiss on the lips.

"Hey Britt," she said, sitting beside me and putting her legs over mine.

"I wanted to tell you," I said sleepily.

"What's up?" She said, unfolding the blanket on the arm of the couch over us.

"How come I can't start Monday?"

Santana laughed at my groggy words. "My dad finally gave you a start date, huh?"

"Mmm."

"Well Monday's Martin Luther King day, so that might clear things up."

"Yes." I smiled with closed eyes. "Yes it does."

"Come here, please." She said pulling my torso towards hers. Soon enough, I was the little spoon. I sighed as she enveloped me in her arms.

"This is against the rules," I muttered.

"Friends snuggle," she nuzzled into my ear.

There was a familiar far away voice.

"Britt?" It was deep and seconds away from a laugh. I knew this tone.

"Noah?" I said dreamily. What kind of dream doesn't end when you open an eye?

"Oh my gosh, Noah!" I squealed, frightening Santana awake. She held me closer and nearly kissed the back of my neck until I sat up off the couch. I was a bit out of sorts. Waking up on the couch to my brother in my face, not to mention Santana wrapped around me.

"Surprise," She yawned. She turned to Noah and sat up next to me. "Could you have called more times this morning? I thought you were gonna wake 'er up and ruin the whole thing….where's m'spare key?" She said, still half asleep.

"Back under the 3rd rock to the right," Noah said excitedly, like a good little soldier.

I reached out to touch his Mohawk as I blinked myself into consciousness.

"Are you in a dream?" I said.

"I'm not sure," he said, beaming at Santana. "I can't believe this, Britt!" Now he was squealing and swatting atmy shoulder. I kept forgetting who I was with. I smiled at her, not meaning for it to be so unabashedly amorous.

"Oh this?" I gestured towards Santana with my head. Noah pushed me off of the couch and fell all over himself to shake a snorting Santana's hand.

"You are—and—and I love—I mean the show's—"

"Noah Puckerman you are embarrassing yourself." I interjected. He took a deep breath and stood.

"You're right, Britt. Get here. Hug it out."

I hopped up into his arms and hugged him as hard as I knew how.

"I missed you so much!" He said spinning me around.

"Oh yeah?" I said as he put me down. "Where were my phone calls?"

"Uh. Pretty sure it works both ways…and you seem to have a lot more to share." He looked to Santana and bowed his head, "I'm Noah. I love you and your work and I promise to try and act normal around you."

Santana laughed shyly. It was almost too cute. She really didn't know what she meant to people. I nearly swooned at her humility, but snapped out of it and led our party to the kitchen. As we ate our cereal at the counter, I swiftly accused Noah and Santana of being in cahoots and demanded that they divulge their plans; to which Noah spat his Cheerios in my face in a fit of laughter. Santana joined, tears streaming down her face. When they settled, Noah revealed how he'd received a phone call a few days ago.

"He hung up on me 17 times." Santana quipped.

"Noah!" I exclaimed, "17!"

"Would you believe it? Santana Lopez? On my phone? I was like 'whaaaaaat?'"

"I guess not…how'd you figure out it was really her?"

"I didn't', but I figured I didn't care. She emailed me a flight confirmation and that was good enough for me."

"Noah!" I looked to Santana for support, but she was in another giggle fit. "It's not funny. It's dangerous." I continued, grinning as I looked over at Santana who was nodding, doubled over in hysterics.

"It could've been a scam, Noah." I held back a chuckle.

"Whateves. Worst case scenario, I don't get on the plane, right? But here I am!" He scarfed down his newly poured bowl of cereal.

"I told him you work for my dad." Santana started, finally catching her breath. "But he said you got fired?"

"More importantly, how'd you guys get to be roommates?" Noah looked like a kid in a candy store as he glanced between us.

I realized they didn't know shit. I mean, Santana, while currently one of the best things in my life, didn't know a thing about it outside of the past 3 weeks. And Noah, my only family at the moment, hadn't been privy to any part of the new life I'd begun. But here they were, crashing into each other; past and present. I was embarrassed at the fact that they were both kind of in the dark, so I spent the morning catching them up. Unfortunately, Noah helped with my abridged life story for the ages of 16 and over which, of course, was riddled with tales of misfortune and ridicule. We laughed until we drooled. Until we couldn't breath. Until I peed a little. Then I filled them in on everything up until that moment—omitting certain situations to which I received a surreptitious smirk from Santana.

"Excuse me, but what the fuck are the chances?" Noah interjected, extending his arms.

"Noah! Language!" I said out of habit. Santana simply looked at her hands and smiled.

"I'm serious! She's our favorite!" He turned to Santana, "You are. You should've heard the way Britt used to talk about—"

"Noah," I warned.

"Go on…" Santana rested her chin on the heel of her hand.

"It was cute, Britt, I promise… But I guess she's changed, Santana…I mean, I totally would've died canoodling with you the way she was this morning. She's obviously not as big a fan as me and can just be friends…never understood how girls could just do that…."

I panicked and Santana covered a grin with her hands. She could laugh it off because Noah wasn't her brother…she had no idea how he could be when he wanted to.

"Oh you saw that?" I feigned nonchalance.

Noah shrugged, "My girlfriend and her friends watch TV like that all the time."

Santana mumbled something from behind her hands. I nodded to no one in particular and decided to clear our plates and wash the dishes.

The rest of the day, Santana drove us around Hollywood. Noah and I were slow and took stupid pictures that she'd surely done and seen done so many times before, but she just waited until we were ready and asked, "Where to next?" And when we didn't know, she took us exactly where we wanted to be.

Because she worked for a television studio, we were able to take an extensive tour of the lot and meet some of her cast mates. Noah became star struck to the point of paralysis, so Santana decided to stay behind and chat for a bit while I coaxed him back to life at Astroburger. He finally bit into his veggie burger with a smile.

"She likes you, you know." He said.

I managed to look like I was ignoring him, when really I was freaking the fuck out internally.

"When you were doing the dishes she was looking at you like she was going to—"

"Cool it."

"It was borderline obscene, Britt." He laughed.

I shook my head insistently as I chewed.

"You didn't feel her grazing your ass while she passed the keys to the valet?"

Why yes. Yes I did. And I quite liked it.

"Noah. No." I whispered intensely, then I caught myself, "Because it didn't happen."

"Ok…but try and pay attention. If I were the paps I could misrepresent the shit out of your friendship."

"Please," I rolled my eyes as a pang of anxiety crept its way into the last bite of my meal.

That night, as Noah succumbed to jetlag in the guest room below mine, I was frightened out of contemplation by a body heaving itself into the empty space on my bed. I shrieked in horror.

"Noah?" I gasped into the darkness…knowing, even though I couldn't see, who it was.

"Now Britt," a sultry voice husked in my ear, "You know damn well who in this house wants to sleep with you."

A half smile made its way to my mouth, but I folded my hands over my stomach.

"Santana, you're not following the rules. You've got to be more careful. My brother's asking questions."

She sighed and shifted. "I'm not sure if I care. " She said.

"What?"

"Brittany,"

"What?" I whispered slowly. But she didn't say another word. So I got up and turned on the light. I stood by the closed door and watched her walk to me in her purple tank and undies.

"You are…" I started, but got lost in the swell of her breasts. "Oh God," was all I could muster. I pulled her in by the bottom of her shirt allowing more of her cleavage to make an appearance.

"I just need you…I can't help it." She breathed into my waiting mouth and put her hands on either side of my head, straddling my leg and pressing me up against the door. My lips were already parted with want, so she kissed them slowly as I pulled her tank under her breasts. Her nipples were already so hard, just the sight of them made me wet. I flicked them with my thumbs. …more than anything I wanted to roll them around my tongue, but before I had a chance, her moans started getting desperate.

"Please…" She groaned and started to grind into me so hard that my butt banged into the door repeatedly. She whispered every single thing about me that turned her on in my ear while putting a hand down my underwear. No one had ever touched me there.

"You don't understand…I love your voice…"I panted, self conscious about the evidence of excitement she was sure to find before she even got inside.

"Oh I understand…." She said inching into me gently with her middle finger while tending to my throbbing clit with her thumb. I flinched as she entered, but was too distracted by t he pleasure to feel pain. It didn't take long for me to see them— Every size and every color star that ever existed in the universe floated in the blackness behind my eyes. My entire body held on and let go at the same time and all I could do was bury my face in her hair; her scent heightening the orgasm. She bit my shoulder, slammed her center against me one last time, and fell apart shortly after; leaving a trail of wetness down my leg. We slid into a pile by the door, waking up that way a few hours later and moving to the bed. I breathed a thank you into her neck.

She tenderly brushed the matted hair from behind my ear and pressed her lips to the space she'd cleared.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: So FF has been wonky lately and I've just gotten to see your reviews! You guys are AMAZEBALLS. Simple as that. You make me want to update everyday! Thank you all so much for reviewing and sending me love. Let's see if I can reply to some of you cats.

Anon who said "great job'nnn"—First off that cracks me up and I don't know why. Secondly…drama indeed. Also, Santana hasn't said she's gay, and she probably won't. It's established already (though I haven't made it very clear just yet) I'll get more into that later.

Lanter—I think she's a sweetie underneath all that sexy : ) but yes she goes from one to the next fairly quickly haha

/

7.

"I knew you'd look like an angel," I said as I kissed her awake. And she did.

She blinked soporifically and turned to her side smiling, "What do you want to do today?"

"I want to tell you how beautiful you are. How good you make me feel. I want you to know it all the time."

I hadn't expected such a sad expression to cloud her face. She looked to our hands and laced her fingers with mine. She didn't look up as she said,

"I've been in love with you since I saw you on set. And I know it's crazy because we didn't exchange a single word…but as soon as I looked into your eyes… I just wanted them on me all the time. I have people watching me everyday…usually they're eating me alive—looking everywhere but my eyes…like that's acceptable, but you looked right at them… like that was the only thing in the world." She paused and inhaled. "I looked for you everyday after that…we had so many background actors, but I just needed to see one…I wish I had said something the first time."

Now I turned to my side so we could face each other.

"I'm sorry," I said frowning. "I'm not ashamed…I've just got a lot riding on me keeping this job…and I've never felt like this about anyone. So it's kind of a lot…I was a..uh…I was a virgin." Her eyes got wide.

"I told you I was new to this," I continued. "So don't get mad when I get scared of my brother finding out or if I don't say 'I love you' back yet. Just know that I do. And it's unfair…but I'm just not ready to say it. But I know it's there…because I miss you all the time, even right now with you right next to me… and your laugh gives me these crazy crickets inside..…I do love you…just give me time to understand…because I don't want to share until I understand."

She nodded slowly, playing with the fingers across my hipbones.

"So…" I ventured, "until I figure this out…no more touching."

She stopped suddenly.

"For real this time," I continued.

"I get it." She said, turning on her back and putting her hands behind her head. The sheets slipped to her ribs. Her naked breasts were exposed and I could only gulp.

"If I can't touch, you can't look." She said slyly.

"Right." I said, not looking away.

"Or…we could just stop all this nonsense and you could—"

The door swung open.

My heart got hot and started beating in 16ths.

But no one was there.

"Wind tunnel." Santana said, shrugging.

"Get out, Santana."

"Alright, relax...I'll be good." She put on her shirt slowly and walked out.

She was not. Even as I reiterated myself while we were brushing our teeth later that morning; warning her to keep her leers and gropes to a minimum,

"You got it, babe." She smiled happily, and pressed a minty fresh kiss to my neck then pulled away quickly when she realized what she had just done. "Sorry," she said genuinely.

I looked at her in disbelief.

"Seriously! Sorry!" She held her hands up and backed away.

My brother woke up around 2pm after Santana and I were already showered, dressed and fed…twice over. We had been playing 'Are You Nervous' and giggling on the stairs when we heard him get up. I sprang from her and nearly crashed into Noah as he entered the kitchen.

"Hey Crazy," He said groggily. "Where are you guys and why are you dre—"

His words escaped him as Santana entered. I couldn't blame him. She wore a pair of very tiny denim shorts and another unlawful white tank top; this time without a bra. I'd forgotten that the view wouldn't be for my eyes only…

"We're dressed," she smirked, no doubt relishing our lusty expressions, "Because it's two in the afternoon. Now hurry up, we're losing sunshine time here!" She snapped her fingers and snapped us out if it.

Noah ate quickly and went to take a shower, so I did the dishes.

As soon as she heard the water running, Santana pressed up against me.

"Santana," It was meant to be an objection, but it came out as a moan. I gripped the sponge with all I had.

"Just trying to squeeze by." She whispered, cupping my ass. "These leggings are sinful, by the way."

I could feel her breasts on my back.

"You ha-have to put a bra on. I can-I can pretty much see through that shirt." I stammered.

She started to rock into me softly.

"Yeah?"

"Mhm," I said, licking my lips.

"I think you like it." She said, venturing between my legs.

"No," I lied, gripping the sides of the sink, as she picked up her rhythm while rubbing me over my leggings.

"No? Then why are you so wet?"

I bit my lip at the word. I'd always thought I'd hated it, but really it just made me uncomfortable because it turned me on so much.

I muttered something through gritted teeth.

She gasped suddenly. "I'm not wearing any underwear, Brittany." She whimpered, "Do you know where the seam of my shorts is bumping?"

That did it. I saw stars again and she rode out an orgasm bending me over the sink.

"Fuck," we sputtered in unison.

She spun me so that we were face to face and clasped her arms around my shoulders, peppering my nose and cheeks neck with kisses.

"We have to change," I said, my eyes darting around to check for Noah.

I washed up quickly in Santana's bathroom, changing my underwear, and putting on a pair of light jeans with a white v-neck t-shirt. Santana also washed up, put on underwear, and changed into a black tank and dark jeans.

"Let's go," Noah emerged in a loose tank of his own and plaid shorts. I smiled at his adorable style. He began to smile back, but instead did a double take.

"You guys…changed."

Santana and I exchanged a look.

"Yeah…it's not hot enough for shorts," Santana said getting up.

"…Or leggings," I added awkwardly.

"You look like fricken yin and yang…all lights and darks," He said, beginning to slyly reach for the car keys. Santana thwarted his plan with a push. He laughed as she tutted him with a smile.

"I love you guys!" I blurted as we left the house. They looked back at me then at each other and laughed.

We hit more tourist spots and ate ridiculous amounts of Mexican food. Noah was in blissful awe and I smiled as Santana catered to his every whim. She pointed out every clothing item, food variety, and record shop she thought he might like and was always right on the money. We dined in Santana's Perriwinkle '57 Chevy convertible as the sun set; she gripping the wheel with one hand and a burrito in the other.

"Did you Google me or something?" Noah said with a full mouth "'Cause these burritos are exactly…mmmm…and I've been looking for Coral Fang forever."

"Puckerman, you're a reflection of your sister…and she of me. I just know what I like," —Santana glanced in my direction—"And I have a feeling you guys'll like it too."

"But man you know Britt well!" He continued, " It's only been like a month…and I'm pretty sure I wasn't aware of her Moleskin obsession until about year 3 or our sibling-ship; but you just picked one right up for her!"

"I've seen the way she stands in front of the office supply aisle in Rite Aid…I figured if she could look longingly at a 99cent composition notebook, she'd just about die over a Moleskin."

They laughed and continued to talk. But I looked down at the leather bound book in my lap and resisted tears of joy.

/

Noah's girlfriend's Aunt and Uncle lived a few miles away in Burbank. He'd been invited to have dinner with them for the night, so we dressed him up in a little blazer, black shirt, and dark jeans like he was our doll. And after attempting to tame the 'Hawk for about 3 hours, Santana dropped the keys to the car in his hand.

"Whoa whoa whoa whoa whoa whoa whoa!" I said, putting up an open hand. "What is this?" I looked to Santana.

"He's got his license," She said.

"So? Santana….that's a nice ass car—Ow!" I felt a pinch on my forearm and brought my attention to Noah.

"Britt! Stop!" He whined. "I have my own car at home. I don't want you guys dropping me off and embarrassing me with you lameness—not you Santana."  
"Obviously," She said nodding.

Noah smiled beseechingly at me. I didn't like it. Not one bit. Nonetheless, I found myself yelling from the front door,

"Call when you get there! And when you're coming home! And call—"

"Okay!" He waved, then pulled off with both hands on the wheel, knowing the deal was off if he did otherwise.

It was early, and Santana's house was a mess. She went upstairs to nap, so I took the opportunity to do some laundry; mine, hers, and even Noah's. He'd only be around for the long weekend, but I didn't feel right re-packing his luggage with dirty clothes. I made his bed, moved on to the living room and neatened the sofa, swept, mopped; and as I did the dishes I realized how much I'd always loathedhousework…but especially the dishes. I abhorred them with a fiery passion. And yet, I did them all the time here. Even the times Santana offered and coupled it with an earnest, 'are you sure?' I just felt like this was the best way to show her I'd do anything for her.

As I smiled thinking of other ways to express my gratitude to Santana, I went upstairs to congratulate her for being so good in all this time we'd been alone. Noah had been gone about 2 hours and I hadn't even caught a glimpse of her. She'd said to wake her when I wanted to start making dinner, so I burst through her bedroom door announcing that I was ready; but was nearly kicked back out by the smell of sex.

"Hey," She said from the bed with a drowsy half smile on her face. I would've deemed her an innocent napper if I didn't know any better. I stood at the foot of the bed with my arms crossed and an eyebrow lifted.

"What?" She said.

"You know what,"

She shrugged.

"Were you…?"

"Was I what?" She sat up crossing her legs in front of her and smiling calculatingly.

"You!" I pointed at her with an open-mouthed smile. She started laughing.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" She said, narrowing her eyes.

"Why does it smell like…sex… in here?" I shot back.

"Well…I'm in here so…"

"San—"

"You won't let me touch! What am I supposed to do?" She whined.

"Santana! Please! You're like, the epitome of sexy... You make everyone horny."

She laughed.

"I'm not kidding," I continued. "You transcend any kind of sexual preference people thought they had—gay guys, straight girls, …giraffes for Christ's sake."

She was holding her stomach and tears streaked her face as she guffawed. I approached her cautiously, "So don't whine to me because I've literally got the entire world's dream girl traipsing around here and I'm supposed to play it cool everyday."

I sat in front of her and took both her hands in mine.

"We have this palpable…tension. All the time." I whispered gazing into her eyes.

She nodded and said, "It clouds my judgment."

I kissed her hand as a consolation.

She smiled widely, "Those are the fingers I just—"

"Oh my God!" I laughed and quickly let go.

"Just smell 'em." She said mockingly, pushing me on my back easily as I was having a giggle fit.

"No!" I said gasping for breath. She held me down by sitting on my stomach. She was surprisingly strong, holding both my writs over my head with one hand.

"Come on," She teased, attempting to put her other hand on my face, but I kept turning just in time.

"I can't breathe," I said, happy tears now staining my face.

She smirked, letting go of my wrists and crossing her arms.

"Cutie," I said, taking her…guilty…hand. Her brow wrinkled as she watched me snicker before I slowly licked the two fingers, never taking my eyes off of her. She bit her lip and dragged it from between her teeth as a moan escaped.

"So good," I husked and flipped us so she was on her back. I now straddled her stomach and held her wrists over her head. She looked at me through hooded eyes.

"So you can be naughty, but I can't?" She panted.

I frowned. "I guess you're right. I'll st—"

"No, no, no. I was just clarifying. That's fair."

"It's not." I leaned in and whispered, "I don't get to do this to you. Hold you down like this…just to watch your tits heave."

"Oh my God, Britt." She licked her lips and struggled for friction. "Keep-keep doing it. It's okay."

"No, no. You politely came up here and put those fingers deep inside, right?"

She nodded, biting her lip again.

"So I shouldn't get to—"

The front door slammed downstairs.

"Shit!" I jumped off of her. I looked back as I sprinted out of the room and caught her sitting up dizzily. That caused me to trip down the stairs and land on my back. I've never seen Noah laugh so hard. He slapped his hands on his knees and convulsed long enough for Santana to scramble downstairs, help me up, and ask if I was okay.

"It wasn't that funny, Noah" I said, letting Santana help me up.

"It was," He wheezed.

"You didn't call once." I grew impatient quickly, as I was still frustrated from what had—or hadn't—occurred upstairs.

"Sorry…My phone died?" He said, unconvincingly.

"Lie." Santana said, shaking her head.

"I'm a big boy, guys. I was with adults. If you were so worried…" He paused ad approached us slowly, "Why didn't you call?"

I swallowed and opened my mouth to say something, but nothing came out. Santana simply walked away trying to hide her smile. When she emerged from the kitchen, handing us juice boxes, Noah hadn't let it go. He sipped with raised eyebrows and looked form me to her.

Santana rolled her yes, "Noah. We trusted you. We didn't call because we were hoping you'd be responsible enough to handle—"

"Okay, alright, Ma." He said playfully.

"Watch it." She cocked a brow.

Noah sighed in defeat, "Alright. I'm sorry. I didn't want her Aunt and Uncle to think I had to answer to anyone. It's like going on an interview…you don't want to seem incompetent…er whatever." He looked at me with a fake pout and I gave in. I'd been quite familiar with interviews recently and decided to cut him a break.

"Whatever," I muttered.

The three of us made our way to the couch, lying all over each other as we watched Scream. Noah's loud "Oh!" woke me as I dozed. Santana looked over at him curiously.

"What?" She said.

"Sydney's double door slamming reminds me, can you do something about your door slamming randomly in the middle of the night?"

"It's a wind tunnel," I yawned.

Santana nodded apologetically.

"Really?" Noah said, confused. "Last night it was like, consecutive slams… Like, not enough time in between for the wind to pick up again, you know?"

"What?" I groaned, attempting to recall if I'd heard a noise. I probably wouldn't've noticed because I wasn't sleeping last night, I was—

My eyes flew open and I sat up amidst the strewn bodies.

"Whoa!" Noah said startled. "Did you hear it too?"

"No, she couldn't've –" Finally, Santana caught on mid sentence.

"Why not?" Noah turned to us.

"I was out." I blurted.

"You went out last night?" Noah said smiling.

I nodded.

"On a date? With a boy?" He teased.

Santana leaned back, looked down, and waited for me to take the bait. It was easy the easy, and most hurtful, way out. But how could I make her so sad? I inhaled deeply.

"No…" I sighed, looking at Santana. Her smile reached her eyes and her dimples were the depth of wells. "I—I heard it too." I said.

"But I thought—" Started Noah.

"It was me—" I interrupted.

"I made her promise not to say anything," Interjected Santana. "So, I gave her a lie to tell you…We were running lines for this new movie I might be in." She paused, "She wasn't doing the knocking part right—there's a whole lot of knocking—so I made her do it over and over pretty loudly. When we run lines we usually get pretty into it. So we forgot you were here. I'm sorry."

"New movie?" Noah had heard only two words. "What movie?"

Santana simply shrugged and mimed zipping her mouth shut. Noah spent the rest of the night sleepily suggesting screenplays that would be 'perfect' for her.

I was putting on my pajamas with my back to the door when I heard a meek voice,

"Come sleep with me?"

I turned quickly, clumsily pulling my shirt over me and putting my hands on my hips. Santana smiled, leaning against the doorframe and tilting her head.

"There are two beds in there. No touching." She said timidly, looking to the ground. I smiled, squinting at her suspiciously; and as she looked up she just stared at me with a sneaky smile. After a while, she rolled her eyes and approached. I was confused.

"What?" I asked.

"While I absolutely love this view…" She said, starting to reach towards my chest. I held my breath. "…I'm trying to be good." She slowly pulled my sleeping shirt up from where it had been caught under a bare nipple.

"Oooh," I said involuntarily, as she purposely flicked the fabric over the sensitive skin. She smiled at me and kissed the now puckered flesh over my shirt. I almost pushed her off, but not only did it feel AMAZING, I also owed her. She came up slowly, smiling.

"I'm being fair now," I exhaled raggedly.

"You mean I can tease too?" She said over her shoulder as she left. I nodded to an empty doorway, spellbound.

I pretended that I wasn't going to go in her room. I fooled myself so well that I even got in my own bed. The problem was that it was my original bed; the one in Santana's room. I silently got under my own sheets and faced away from her and I could have sworn I heard her smiling in the dark. We didn't speak for a about 15 minutes, when I finally whispered,

"Thanks."

I only half wanted her to hear it...the other half of me was embarrassed. And for a while I thought I was in the clear, until she whispered back,

"Why? I mean, for what?"

"Well," I started, speaking in a normal tone of voice. "For covering me with the whole 'door knocking' thing…I know you're not so keen on me hiding…" I trailed off.

I heard her shift in her bed and say, "Well I wasn't just going to let you tell your brother that there was no wind tunnel, and it was just me fucking you hard against the door."

I was not expecting that. My breath hitched and I snaked my hand slowly over my navel, as if that would diffuse the situation.

"Sorry, " She said, obviously hearing my response.

"It's ok," I purred, unintentionally. Slipping my hand under my PJs, but over my underwear.

"What was that?" She said slowly.

"What?" I grunted.

"What is this tone you have? What are you doing over there, Britt? Are—are you turned on?"

I didn't say a word. I simply cupped myself and nodded in the dark.

"Tell me," She purred. "I can hear you, and…mmm smell…"

"…Just thinking about how you had me up against the door," I began to massage my panty-covered folds.

"What else do you think about, Honey?" She said, obviously working on herself as well.

"Mmm when you call me Honey…drives me crazy…" I paused as she took the opportunity to moan. "I think about your lips. I've never seen such juicy, kissable lips. I can't decide if I want to stare or suck…"

"Fuck me…" she whispered.

"And," I moaned, getting close. "It took everything I had not to return the favor earlier when you kissed my"—I quivered—"…I want to kiss yours too…they looked delicious through your tank top this morning…and felt so hard on my back when you had me over the sink."

She moaned, "How did I taste when you licked me off my fingers?"

" So sweet, San. Like coconut milk…I want you to be my lip gloss."

"Only if you promise to make my lips gloss first."

We somehow unraveled at the same time, whispering each other's names under the hands we clasped over our own mouths. She finally crawled into my bed and I put my arm around her. She hugged me close and intertwined our legs, inhaling deeply.

"Mmm," She said. "You smell good enough to—"

"Uh uh." I warned.

She chuckled and we fell asleep in our separate but shared afterglow.

/

I know the whole point was to wake up in separate beds. I know that. But I liked waking up to her lips on my neck. I liked the glimpses of skin peeking out from the covers; the way she felt against me. The way I'd always dreamed.

"Mmm Honey," She said playfully onto my neck. I smiled with my eyes closed. She kissed her way up my throat and stopped at my chin.

"You know," She said, leaning up on her elbows and using such a matter of fact tone that I nearly opened my eyes…nearly. But instead I sleepily uttered,

"What?"

"You talk about my lips…but yours've got this—" she traced my top lip—"sexy little beauty mark…right on this peak."

"I think you should kiss it," I blurted with a smile, still behind closed eyes.

"Do you?" Her breath was on my mouth.

"I love you," I whispered, surprising even myself. I opened my eyes.

"What?" She said nervously. I searched the face right above mine. It was the definition of happy astonishment. "What?" She said again, lips ghosting over mine.

"What?" I teased and pulled her in for a soft kiss. "I love you." I said again, gazing into her eyes; repeating it as I cupped her face and kissed her cheeks, nose, forehead, and chin. She smiled widely as I did so. Then I started all over again and said,

"I love your beautiful face, your skin, your hair, your legs, your laugh, your voice…" I stopped and looked in her eyes, still cupping her face, "Your heart. Your precious heart." She had been holding herself up by her elbows; torso strewn across mine, bottom halves side-by-side, and hands by my ears. She took one of my hands from her face and rested it on her chest, covering it with both of hers,

"It's yours." She said. She put her hands at either side of my head again and closed the gap between us. It was so tender. She concentrated on my lips; kissing each one individually then tugging each one individually, and finally allowing her tongue to caress mine; slowly driving my head deeper and deeper into the mattress. With one last sweet kiss, she pulled away, but only slightly.

I was breathless.

So when Noah knocked without waiting for an answer and drowsily walked in, I couldn't even begin to formulate words.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Apologies. I had to be a good little host this week, so I couldn't gaze lovingly into my computer screen as I would much rather do!

AshleyDonovan - You're hilarious, thanks so much! :)

Ryoko05 - He kind of knew...but only to a certain extent ;)

Thanks for the reviews!

8.

He was mumbling something about a towel and hadn't even noticed that there was nobody in the bed he was talking to—and 2 bodies in the bed right next to it. I watched as all my fears came to life. I saw his face register the scene before him. First confusion and a smile as he realized Santana wasn't where he thought she was, then a morph into shock as his eyes skipped to the next bed. My bed. Our bed. We were both fully clothed, but we had just pulled away from a kiss and she was looking at him as she hovered over me, hands still entangled in my hair. Noah opened and closed his mouth before tripping over himself to leave, shutting the door behind him.

Noah went home that day. I mean, it was the end of the weekend, so he was supposed to go home anyway…

I don't really remember much about how it went. Or how I ended up here. I remember that I said something to Santana and what I saw staring back at me was the most broken little girl. And I hated her because she made me want to make her feel better.

_I remember exactly how it went. In the same second I placed my heart in her palm (almost literally), she closed her fist and smashed it. It was everything I'd always warned myself against, coming to fruition. I guess I wasn't being irrational when I took my time putting up those cinderblock walls in high school. Being a bitch. Making sure people were afraid of me so that they couldn't hurt me. And even as I did it, I had a feeling I was being ridiculous…It was some time during sophomore year of college that I started thinking they couldn't all be bad and that maybe somewhere in this shit world there had to be some kind of love for me…Little by little, I had started to defrost and soften; she had caught me at just the right time. I was completely vulnerable and happy to be so. Because never in a million years would I have imagined those baby blues could turn icy. She had said 'Get off me' and scurried to the door. Then she looked back at me and I could've sworn she was Medusa. Of all the looks I'd ever received, not one had ever made my heart plummet so effortlessly…I was convinced it was stone._

I know that I went catatonic again. I know that as we drove him to the airport, I sat in the backseat alone so that I could pretend I was still in bed. I vaguely remember hearing Noah whisper, "I'm telling everyone" as he pulled away form our goodbye hug. And I began to retch …this was who he could be. I'd only seen this Noah once before, but this was the Noah I'd feared. His insensitivity was just as extreme as his kindness, so he didn't understand that this was my life…and hers….Though, I honestly couldn't claim to be any more considerate…I mean, why had I not spoken to Santana for the entire drive back? Why couldn't I bring myself to leave my room whenever I'd gotten home from work for an entire month? And why, at the end of that month, did I use my first paycheck to buy a plane ticket back home? I didn't say a word about it either. Not to Santana. Not to Mr. Carlos. Not to my mom. But here I was, in her bedroom in Manhattan, waiting for her to come home. I didn't know what I was going to say.

_Then why did I let her stay? Fuck if I know. I guess I vaguely remember that fear… I saw myself in her cold distance. I honestly can't relate because I'm not that girl anymore…but I guess the scars are still around and I felt some sort of sympathy pain…she's my phantom limb. And I guess…I guess I'd rather cry myself to sleep every night hearing her do the same in the next room, than make company with my own echoes. Seeing that pretty blond head keeps me breathing and kills me simultaneously._

This was just a much scarier version of changing my career. It was all the same self-consciousness and wondering what people would think of me…when in reality, I just wanted to love her. Nothing else. Just me and her and no one else should matter…but they did. I had worked my whole life to avoid this exact type of attention; living it on the simplest terms and minding my own business. It was the best way to keep everyone smiling…I couldn't stand these types of situations where people could get hurt and there was nothing I could do. But who? Who would get hurt? I know my mom had always taught me 'live and let live', but I wasn't sure if that applied to everyone else who wasn't her daughter? I mean she hadn't proven to be any good at letting me live in the past few months...I wasn't even sure if I was a lesbian, but whatever I was, falling for Santana was wrapped up in there. And what about Noah? He had somehow figured out that Santana wanted me—which was weird because one thing we'd always had in common was our inability to understand the obvious— but he had no idea I wanted her right back. So now that he knew…and he was telling everybody…what was he saying? It was driving me crazy. I know I shouldn't care what people think, but I do. I really really do.

_You can't answer one text? Not one of the 22 I've sent? How 'bout a voicemail? No? Not a-one, huh? No that's cool, that's cool. I'm not worried to death about the fact that you may be lying unconscious in a gutter, slowly dying of internal bleeding. I'm not driving myself crazy asking my dad for your resume just to get in touch with your ex-coworkers—who are pricks by the way—Where the fuck are you Brittany S. Pierce? I know where I am. I've had to take drastic measures and board a motherfuckin plane. Please excuse my language, but I'm both seething and terrified. I'm pretty sure I've never loved any one this much…for God's sake I had 'Those To Come' on repeat in my headphones the whole flight because it reminds me of you…and we both know I fuckin hate The Shins. And I can't believe I'm saying this, but I liked it better when you were moping around the house ignoring me. At least then I could see you. At least then you were dead inside and not outside, and that's something I can fix... The only thing I have left is your brother. I called him and he says he thought you were still here with me. Well if you're not with me there's only one other place you could be, he says. So I got on this plane and I'm coming for you, Brittany Pierce. I'm chasing you, even though I hate you so much right now._

It happened when I was putting away my boarding pass. My fingers ran across an unfamiliar shape in my purse. I felt the leather of the Moleskin Santana bought me, but then there was a smooth corner jutting into my palm. I pulled the object out and smiled. The wrapping paper was still in tact, but scuffed. I had completely forgotten about Matty's gift. The box fit perfectly in my palm and I decided to let it sit there for a few minutes. Wondering how I should handle unwrapping the gift…or if I should unwrap it at all. I decided I could use a distraction, so I carefully lifted the tape from the sides and took off the wrapping paper without a single rip. I pulled off the top and a small piece of paper sat folded on top of a cotton cushion. The note said, 'Here is the only truth you need to know: Call this number and someone will always pick up. The person on the other line will take you wherever you want to go. And maybe make a sandwich on the way. Love, Santa'. I smiled weakly at the faded "na" at the end of Santa. I started to turn the piece of paper around to look for a number, but as I looked past the note, I noticed I hadn't seen something lying between the paper and the cotton—it was a simple white gold chain, just thick enough to engrain tiny numbers on the underside.

And as I absentmindedly clasped the band around my neck, it came to me:

I cared so much about what people thought because I wanted them to know the truth. My truth. I had spent my whole life letting other people speak for me, but this would be the last time.

/

After letting out a blood curdling scream and using her inhaler a few times, my mother embraced me. I guess I shouldn't have let her think she'd be coming home to an empty house. We hugged so tight. She started crying; shaking the tears out of her body. She was shorter than me so I cradled her head between my neck and shoulder.

"Mommy, don't cry." I whispered.

She pulled away taking those little breaths people take when they can't catch it.

"Br-Brittany, what're you doing to me?" She said as we sat on her bed.

"I'm sorry," I frowned. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"Yes you did," She smiled through tears.

She was right. But only a little. Usually scaring her is funny, but this was not funny.

I returned the smile. "Usually you don't cry though, Ma."

"I haven't seen you in months. Months. Do you know what that does to a mom?"

I rolled my eyes with a smile.

"And Ms. Brittany," She continued, wiping her eyes, "You of all people should be more sensitive about intruding. If I'm not mistaken, someone's skinny little butt used to make its way to my bed every single night asking me to check if I locked the front door."

I pursed my lips and brought them to one side of my face. "Well…I couldn't check alone…and Lord Tubbington kept hearing voices…though I think it was just the dementia setting in."

She said put a hand through my hair. "You've gotten so tan, and look at this blond. My baby's a California girl." Her eyes got sad. She had an idea as to why I was there and I could tell she didn't want to talk…so I waited.

I let a week go by.

I wish I could say that it felt like old times. We did all the same things. I'd watch her make dinner as I swung my legs off the kitchen counter. Jeopardy would come on and we'd yell out the answers—questions?—I'd be right about things like the beak of the Finch while she conquered silly subjects like Russian Czars.

It's not to say we didn't laugh because we did. But it was between the noise that we held these looks. When I'd come down from a shared chuckle, I'd find her eyes had turned into those of a shark. She was trying to read my mind. She couldn't figure me out, and didn't want to ask. I'd save my own telepathic glares for when she couldn't catch me. She'd always had a habit of watching Spanish soap operas,novelas, when she came home from work. She used to say it helped her unwind; however, now that we'd both grown to understand the language, the ritual's anything but relaxing—Everyone's related and none of them know it!—In any case, this was when I'd sit on the couch across from her, just behind her peripheral vision, so I could stare. I'd squint hard and try to will her into a real conversation. This game continued until the end of the week when she dropped her fork into her plate and sighed,

"Okay Britt,"

"Okay Britt what?" I said hiding a smile by keeping my eyes on my plate.

"You know what…what's going on? You can't show up here in the middle of the week and—did you leave your job again? I told you about that creative nonsense. Brittany, you can't just—"

"Mom. Stop. I'm fine…you have to stop calling my job stupid…it's like calling me stupid, and you were the one who taught me that I shouldn't let anyone do that."

She frowned.

I nodded insistently, "My boss has got me writing amazing editorials. I'm happy. I've never been so happy."

She lowered her brows in utter confusion, and after a while she just shook her head.

"… I wanted so much more for you…"

"More than what, Mom?"

"More than living paycheck to paycheck, more than you being out there all by yourself when you don't have to be…"

"I'm not." I whispered.

"Yes you are. Look how long it took for you to make a trip home. How many checks did you have to save for a round trip?"

"Well, I actually get paid pretty well…the magazine's like every Californian artist's go-to guide…but what I meant is that I'm not alone." I looked at her from under my lashes.

"Oh." She leaned back in her chair and shifted her eyes; her mouth remained a straight line.

I squinted my eyes at her for a while, "You knew?"

"Brittany," She sighed, as if she wanted to say so much more, but all that came out was, "Yes." Secretly, I was glad…she could be so very mean…and for her to hold back meant the world to me. Even if she didn't dare make an effort to understand.

"Well, why didn't you say anything?" I said crossing my arms skeptically, and testing the waters.

She shrugged, as if she truly didn't care…not in the good way; in the way where she would be okay with it if she didn't have to hear another word. And even though I knew that, I said all the words she wouldn't be ok with.

"I want you to know that I love this girl. And I know it makes you upset because you had this life set out for me and none of this stuff fits in…but I don't care. She's my entire everything and I think I messed it up…because of you I messed it up…"

"No hold on a minute, Brittany," She sat up abruptly and folded her arms. "I have nothing to do with this."

"Yes you do." I said quietly, looking at my hands. "I was scared of what people say…but more than anything, I'm scared of you. And what you think of me…I feel like I can't –"

"Can't what?"

"Anything, mom! I can't anything!"

"Brittany…what does that mean?"

"It means…"I sighed. "Mom…I needed you this whole time. I needed help…things got really bad—"

"Really bad?" Her concern suddenly overpowered her attitude.

"I'm not going to go into it…but you were the last person I felt like I could call on."

She didn't really look as sad as she should, but I knew she was hurt. If she wasn't a good mother, she was nothing. Of course, her recent definition of 'good' left much to be desired…

"Come here." She sat me on a stool in the kitchen and locked her eyes with mine intensely. "Brittany… my favorite thing about you is how you manage to remain so ingenuous. People mistake it for weakness, but really it makes you so very intelligent. That's why I told you never to listen to those little assholes who say otherwise."

I nodded.

"And I'm sorry…because I've become one of them and I don't know how to change that … I do know that"—She took a very deep breath—" if you decide to run away that this will be the only time those little assholes will be right."

My eyes lit up at her small attempt at comforting me. But they soon dimmed again because there was no way what I was doing could be seen as running away.

"I'm not running away, Mom. I'd never run away from her."

"Brittany. If the girl loves you as much as you love her…she probably thinks you got scared for good…I bet you didn't say a word about leaving, did you?" She shook her head, "It's just crass, Britt. What would you think?" What she lacked in tact, she made up for in insight.

"I'd think," I thought about it, and my gaze fell, "…she left me….shit."


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Originally this was supposed to be the last chapter…would you guys kill me if that was still the case?

9.

"Yeah," She said, nodding. "And I'm going to let that curse slide….Listen, Sammy's coming over in a bit. He's taking you to Tapas. I told him you were in town and he's pretty upset you haven't called."

"So he's taking me out?"

She shrugged, "The boy's in love."

I rolled my eyes. Sam and I had gone to elementary, middle, and high school together. He really only started liking me because people said he should. I let him continue his innocuous pining because up until I moved to California, he had been my very best friend. He was the only person who wasn't embarrassed when I would start skipping down Riverside Drive; on a good day, he'd even join me. We would walk for hours just to find berry cobbler on the lower east side. All the while talking about things like the word "have" and reasons why it should be pronounced like "gave". Routinely reminding each other that we weren't doomed; that we'd never grow up to be like them….

"You don't call, you don't write," Sam bellowed from in front of the restaurant. I was only halfway down the block, but he'd always been awkward like that. He waved like a madman as I made my way to him.

"Oh my sweet Britt." He said, scooping me up like I was nothing but a pillow.

"Sam, your Ron Burgundy impression needs work." I laughed hugging him back.

"You caught that, huh? It can't be that bad then…it's a pretty obscure liiiiine…and you still recogniiiiized iiiiiit," He sang.

"Whatever, Sammy," I grabbed his hand. "Let's drink."

I turned but he pulled me back, "It's Mariachi night, Britt." He rolled his R's and pushed me out of the way, running ahead. I giggled behind him; clearly he'd already started his own festivities.

The place was absolutely packed, and it took me a few minutes to spot Sam waving me over from a booth. I made my way to him saying,

"How in the world did you find an empty—"

The booth wasn't empty. I found myself staring at a giggling Sam, a swaying Noah, and a fucking pissed off Santana. She obviously didn't want to be there. But she still looked so hot.

She was on an end seat and looked at me like I must be fucking kidding when I looked in her direction for a place to sit. It was a horseshoe booth, so everyone had to scoot down so I could sit at the other end.

"Noah, you are way under age." I said angrily.

"Well hello to you too, Britt Brat. And this here's a bar-restaurant. I am none to young for some enchi-fuckin-ladaaaaaas!" He put up a hand for a hi-five, but no one reciprocated. So he did it himself.

"Wait a minute, is he drunk?" I said, looking to Santana.

She gave the tiniest shrug and rolled her eyes as if I'd been annoying her for a lifetime.

"Santana, is he?"

"He said one of these little waitresses is on his 'jock'. She's been the one sneaking him drinks." She looked at Sam as she spoke.

"Shelby," I sighed. Santana started to look concerned, but quickly shifted gears,

"Take off that fucking necklace," She hissed.

I broke into a cold sweat. She was terrifying.

"I—I'm sorry—" I stuttered and started to reach back to the clasp. She stopped me with a hand.

"Fuck it. I don't give a shit. I just came here to make sure you were alive. Seeing as you didn't have the decency to say a fucking word about leaving."

"Uh, let's go get another round, Bud." Sam pushed me out of the booth so he and Noah could sprint to the bar. Santana glared at me and I danced my eyes around the entire restaurant to avoid hers.

"Listen, I gotta go—" She started to stand, but I swung my body around the outside of the booth and knocked her back in. This was intelligent because in order to escape she'd have to scoot all the way around the other side, and I could just swing back around the outside of the table to box her in again. I'm a genius.

"What do you want? What is it?" She said folding her arms. She looked like she was about to cry. I stared into her watery eyes begging her to understand because I didn't have any kind of words.

"You know what Brittany? You're a piece of fucking work…I didn't do anything wrong. …and you treat me like some fucking leper? I don't deserve that shit and you know it. I gave you everything and you couldn't even leave a God damn note." She was brimming with hatred and a tear from each eye escaped before she could collect herself. Her hands emphasized every expletive and she crossed her arms again once she'd finished.

I shifted my eyes as if I could find the words somewhere around her face.

"If you don't say something in the next five fucking seconds, I'm on a plane back home….and you can forget about your stuff." I could tell that even she didn't believe that last part, but I knew the first part was extremely true. I 'd never seen her cry. It was like watching a kid lose their parent in a crowded mall. The same hopelessness and terror made her eyes frown. And even though she had stopped, her expression made me want to weep. I had no idea how to explain that none of it was what it looked like. I wasn't leaving her; I just needed to think. And that was usually how I did it…alone.

The boys came back with 4 rounds of different colored shots. Santana rolled her eyes when they sloppily smashed into the end seats and trapped her next to me. I grabbed a lemon drop shot and downed it. She saw what I'd done and angrily slammed down a Red Devil. I had to do something very quickly. …

So I disappeared

…but not before texting Noah and Sam; ordering them to keep Santana there.

I knew it would be difficult, and from where I was standing, it looked like the band started playing just in time. Santana was literally half way out the door (the drunken boys having been threatened with a kneecap to the nutsack) when the trumpets sounded. I watched her turn as if in a dream. Having never seen her wear a bewildered expression—Santana Lopez does not get caught off-guard—I was dazzled. Another thing about Santana Lopez; she can't resist her favorite song. Her cheeks flushed as she saw me approach from across the room. But she completely dropped her jaw when she heard my voice through the speakers,

"Hay musica en tu voz," I sang as I reached her. I took her hand, "Hay musica en tus manos." She pulled her hand away, but slowly. The entire restaurant grew silent and every single eye was on Santana's.

"Son tus labios de miel…." Including mine. She shifted her stance and I knew she was having an internal struggle. She wanted so badly to break.

"Terciopelo son tus ojos, soñadores. Luz de luna, tu sonrisa sin igual." Patrons started to clap and she glowed. I passed her the microphone and she took it reluctantly.

"Te amo hasta en el dolor," Santana crooned, defeated; and finally locking eyes with me. The entire restaurant swooned; the bartenders, the dishwashers, tables, chairs—nothing was immune. "Y siento por tu encanto,"

I followed her to the small stage. We looked to each other and she let me sing the next line with her, "Felicidad mi amor…temor de amarte tanto…."

She sang the rest of the song alone, but let me join her on stage. The applause was deafening. Santana waved shyly and started to walk off the stage, but I took her hand, and when she didn't pull away, I snatched her back. "Hold on," I whispered to her, then said into the mic, "Hey Restaurant! Restaurant! I love her!" I pointed to Santana with the same hand that held the microphone. The claps increased, joined by some hooting. "But, but I was careless. Now she thinks I don't love her. But I totally totally do." I turned to Santana. "I never loved anyone like I love you. I just needed to collect my thoughts…there's a lot of 'em …and they were all over the place…I'm sorry, Santana. I love you so much." The entire speech rang through the speakers. Santana wore the biggest smile, but was beet red. The restaurant applauded awkwardly, unsure if I was done and obviously uneasy about the intimacy of the moment. I grabbed her and held her in my arms until she gasped that she couldn't breath.

We made our way back to the booth, but the boys were gone.

"Good," She said smiling. "I've been hanging out with Noah for a week; I could use a break form that little douche."

"A week?…At my dad's house?"

"Noooo," She chuckled as we took turns finishing off the shots that the boys never touched.

"So where are you staying?"

She winked at me. "You'll see."

Six shots, a very big tip, and a cab ride later; I did see.

Some people dream of staying at The Plaza. I went there for a friend's birthday party in fourth grade; not so awesome. It's like staying in a palace museum. Everything's marble, gold plated, cold, and off limits. Yes,I thought as I rolled my neck under the showerhead, The W. is far superior. And not just because of the Santana…well mostly because of the Santana, but also because I'd never seen a hotel room with a loft or a terrace; a terrace half the size of the room itself. I walked around in awe for a whole half hour before Santana told me to get my drunk ass in the shower.

I could see her washing her face through the glass door. She didn't notice me watching her. She was wearing only her black lace bra and underwear, as well as the white collared shirt she'd worn to dinner, unbuttoned. I smiled when she swayed her hips a little as a song began. The sound system was playing in every room and I saw an opportunity.

I would be you, you would be me, we would be one, we would be just fine.

I stepped out of the shower and slid behind her, looking at her through the mirror.

The ice caps wouldn't be melting, and neither would I.

I placed my wet hands under her shirt and on to her back, moving to her delectable abs as she shivered.

I would just drive my big old car, and everything would be alright.

I slipped the shirt off of her shoulders, letting it drop to the floor. Never taking my eyes off of our reflection.

"Brittany," She sighed, bringing her hand around to my hair and rolling her head back so her lips were at my ear. "Don't ever fucking leave me again."

"Words would fly right from out of my mouth, out of my mind, into your heart, into your life. And everything would sound just right…" I sang the lyrics into her exposed neck.

"Promise me," She said. I trailed my fingers up the arm she had twisted behind my head and put my hand over hers. I held her gaze through the mirror for a while.

"I promise, Santana." I said finally, tightening my other arm around her waist. She spun in my arms and I slid my body down hers, sinking to my knees. As I kissed every part of her stomach, she ran her fingers through my slicked hair, lazily singing the lyrics, "And every time I'd need a woman, she'd appear right by me. She'd hold me tight, treat me tight, and tell me that everything is gonna, is gonna be alright."

I smiled into the kisses I placed over her panties as I listened.

I'd never done anything like this before…all I knew was what I'd like to have done to me. So I spread her legs a bit more and kissed the lace between them until she bucked. I licked a long stripe and the hand that had been petting my hair, pulled it.

"Sorry," She whimpered.

I grinned and moved on to sucking. My hands were at the small of her back, but soon one travelled to her thigh, nudging her to lift a leg. She placed it over my shoulder as I hooked my fingers around her panties and pulled them down. I looked up at her then back at what was in front of me. She was leaning up against the sink trembling.

"Britt?" She pleaded.

"You just look so good, I don't know where to start."

She pushed her heel into my back and pulled me in. But I took my time exploring every nook and cranny, which drove her insane. She was twitching; mumbling obscenities and my name intermittently. I liked taking it slow and she was all about instant gratification. When I knew she was about to fall apart, I went back to sucking, but this time more intensely, she really was delicious. She tightened up and her thighs clapped my ears as she shrieked my name as well as Jesus's for good measure.

Luckily, she'd ended up on the sink because she'd made coconut milk mess. I did my best to lick it off her thighs, which she, in turn, licked off my face when I stood to kiss her. She scooted back and wrapped her legs around my waist. I watched as her hips continued to roll.

"You are a fucking prodigy." She panted. I laughed, holding her steady. Was I a prodigy of fucking? Or was I just like…a regular prodigy and was she just using the word 'fucking' to highlight that fact? I suddenly realized I was completely naked by the way she looked hungrily between my thighs. She licked her lips and said, "…can I clean you up?"

"No." I picked her up and dropped her on the bed. "Tonight was all about you, Ms. Lopez."

She lay on her back peacefully while I watched her on my side. I walked my fingers lazily around her bra.

"Oh my God," She sighed after a while. "You need to put that on your resume."

"What, and have your dad know I can eat his daughter like a champ?"

The most mischievous smirk crept on to her face. "About that…."

I clasped my hand over my mouth. "Oh shit. I'm really fired this time…I didn't tell your dad I was leaving…it's been like a week!" I couldn't believe I was laughing. Any other day I'd be having an attack. But here, right now, with this taste still on my tongue; the only thing I cared about was right next to me.

"Oh, I covered for you." She cleared her throat, still holding back a smile. "But you have to understand, I was mad…"

"Santana,"

"…So I told him that it was too bad about your family emergency and that I missed having you around…because you sure are a good fuck."


	10. Chapter 10

You guys are hilarious! I meant it more as a hypothetical like "Wouldn't you kill me if I did that now?" The story has gotten so much more complicated than I originally intended, I couldn't end it yet! Don't worry, I'll give you fair warning…or maybe you'll just feel the end coming (ominous much?)…either way; you've got time ;)

Hugs and kisses to you all and thanks so much for the love!

Links to last chapter's songs:

/5guPO8n-ejo

/b04ShbtaNnc

Part II

10.

Everything that I'd always imagined would be the scariest thing in the world had already happened to me by the time I was 6. Therefore, I have no concept of fear. What, you ask, was so horrific at six? Well two things. One that still haunts me to this day—so I guess I still have a slight concept of fear—and another that's a typical six-year-old phobia: flying cockroaches and the dark. They came together for the first of many times when I visited my Abuelo and Abuela in the Dominican Republic, as I would every summer. The summers before I turned 6 though, I don't think I would even realize when the lights went out. Probably because I was always asleep by the time it happened, and when the sun was out I was barely using the electricity anyway. Gradually, the power outages came every night. I'm not sure why, but it's like a known fact that the 'lights' (AKA all the electricity) would be turned off at some point during the day so that the town could conserve energy. If you didn't have a generator, you were fucked. That meant hospitals, schools, and little Santana Lopez taking her shower before bed were all fucked. Mind you, this was something I had night and day-mares about the second I was old enough to take showers by myself. I could be playing with the neighborhood kids in the afternoon and all of a sudden a sense of dread would emerge as I thought about how I'd fend off the possibilities of cockroaches while I bathed. When it finally happened, I shrieked. Over and over again. I hugged myself and awkwardly let the water continue to wash over my naked body like a shield, but the shrieks never stopped pouring from my mouth. I couldn't move or I'd surely slip and die, and I knew that it would only be a few minutes before those flying demons would sense my fear and attack. So there I was, stuck in my own personal hell, when a towel wrapped around me, and soft chuckles rang in my ears. My Abuela guided me out of the tub like she'd been prepared. That moment of shrugged off salvation is exactly when my Abuela became the woman I will always want to be. And the moment fear became something to walk straight into.

So forgive me Brittany if I can't always gauge social norms…like, you know…this whole situation with my dad…

Here's the thing, I've kind of always been out. I don't know what it's like to be afraid of what other people think because I'm from a family where that stuff's never really discussed…in the good way. The way where everybody already guessed it so when you come home with a girl you just have to make sure she's got 'a good head on her shoulders' and she picks you up and drops you off at the door…just like if you brought home a boy. I don't know how my dad's side of the family is, but my mom's side is pretty matriarchal, so needless to say, my Abuela is the single most important member of the family. For my entire childhood, she was it. She taught me things without saying a word then played 'Sorry' with me under the mosquito nets at night. She's got this solemn wisdom that comes off as gentle as a baby's breath. I hate to say it…I really do…I feel really guilty about this, but she has always been the tiniest notch above my mom in my heart. And I don't think that notch is so tiny because my mom definitely knows.

We're not so close anymore. As soon as everyone started meeting the girls I was dating (I never really had a girlfriend), Abuela kind of backed off. Let's put that on the 'scariest things I could ever imagine' list with the roaches in the dark… It affected me, and people noticed. My steps got slower, my smile dimmed; she literally took the light out of my life. That's when I started shedding my snakeskin and getting soft…looking for love somewhere else. And that's when I met Kat.

Before Kat, girls would just fucking hurl themselves at me. No joke, it was like lady parts dodgeball. So I didn't give a shit. I didn't pay attention because they came at me so deliberately that it was no fun…that's kind of why I stuck to boys in high school. Girls would straight up try and kiss me in the bathroom, give me candy just so I could suck it off their fingers, and laugh at my bitchy jokes just to see me roll my eyes; and sure I played along... because…well, who doesn't like to feel sexy? But it never got any further than that.

Until Kat.

When I was 19, my Abuela—having decided that being around me was a waste of time — thought I should make myself useful, and instead of staying with her, I was to do volunteer work with a student group in the Dominican Republic. That way she couldn't feel bad about feeding me to the wolves…literally. Back home I may have acted mildly bougie, but my summers were when I was free to put my same snap survival instincts to good use in the wild. You'd never recognize me. I'd jump from roof to roof starting with my grandparents house and ending up down the block. I'd swim for miles, run down mountains, and scrape my knees and elbows until the sun just couldn't tan the scars. Everywhere else my complexion would be a glistening cinnamon shade and my hair would flail behind me in its natural curls.

This volunteer shit would be a cinch.

Or so I thought…until the most beautiful green eyes locked with mine. Kat was one of our team leaders. She had these ridiculous auburn waves and she smiled at me like we'd known each other for years. It turned out that she was only about 3 years older than me, and was pretty much my same. Except for one thing…she really really liked to hold hands. Every opportunity she got she'd hold mine. This was probably really inappropriate considering the fact that she was pretty much our chaperone…but the entire trip had such a laid back feel, that no one cared. A few weeks in a hut and everyone's bonin', right? She and I spent every waking moment together. We'd get on the same truck to head to the work site, we'd go to lunch at the same time, we'd shower together—in our bathing suits—and we'd spend the night drinking rum and playing cards, all while holding hands. One night, we escaped the hut and went in to town. As usual, I found myself right next to the DJ; with Kat gripping one hand and a rum and coke in the other. I had leaned in to ask the DJ a question, and when I turned to Kat to ask her opinion, two lips quickly wrapped around my bottom one. Then pulled away. I asked her if she kissed me and she said 'no' with a coy smile. I like to act like I know it all, but in that moment I knew nothing. Up until then, I'd thought we were just the very best of friends. The kind of friends who whisper in each other's ears just a little too suggestively. Or who make comments about what the other one is wearing while unabashedly undressing them with their eyes, and after that kiss, the kind of friends who easily turned rainy nights into hardcore make out sessions. I found myself worshipping Kat because she did the same to me. And even after an entire summer of such intense love, it never got old. Ever. I never wanted it to stop, and she said that it wouldn't. She promised to keep in touch. But I never heard from her again.

When I came back to the states, I convinced myself it was jet lag that, you know, lasted for weeks, but it was really my very first heartbreak. Now I knew what going cold turkey felt like. Though I didn't go back to my high school ways…I stayed away from relationships. But you, Brittany, were like this runaway train that I never saw coming. This was different from Kat. I couldn't help but to pursue you. This time, I knew exactly what was happening and I was all in…knowing what the consequences might be. You're the only person who has ever turned on that light that Abuela turned off. I used to spend my time drowning in work and keeping to myself. You pulled off the covers and opened up the blinds, you know what I mean? And that's just with that pretty smile. Not seeing Kat ever again, was like, a fraction of what not seeing you for a week was.

So that's why I said that to my dad. I outted us to the one person I knew you didn't want to know. I wanted to hurt everyone. After I'd said it, he looked like someone had just punched him in the throat in the middle of a civilized conversation. He grabbed my elbow and pulled me into an office—we had been speaking by the elevators.

"Santana, you're gay?'

"Duh,"

"Are you…you know…out?"

"I haven't really done anything to hide it, but my publicist has…so I guess not."

"Well, good…"

I gave him a look. He put up his hands and back peddled.

"What I mean is, as part of the press, I know first hand that this would be no good for your burgeoning career, you know? We've come a long way…but you're just getting started. And you've got to hit mainstream before—"

"Bored. I've heard this. I know…I get it. But what you guys don't understand is this: No. One. Cares."

"You'd be surprised, Santana…just promise me you'll give your career a chance to grow before you let people in on something that's really none of their business."

"I haven't yet, right?"

He cleared his throat. "As your father…I can't say that I believe you, though."

"Believe that I'm gay?"

"That you're going out with Brittany…she recently asked me if my name was Carlos Carlos…thinking that since everyone addresses me by "Mister", it must be my last name too...she's sweet, but…"

I frowned at his insinuation…he didn't realize that you're a gem.

"And…if you were dating her, I'd have to fire her. And I honestly don't believe, if she's as good of a friend as you say she is, that you would risk that."

"You must be crazy! I don't work here! There's no company rule about that."

Suddenly, I realized where the old Santana had gotten her ways. He became unrecognizable and his tone of voice was a murderous whisper.

"Santana, you're my daughter. If Brittany were a boy, I'd behave the same way. No employee of mine will date my daughter, do you understand me? And how dare you come in here and try to undermine my work over some silly roommate tiff? I'm sure you two got into it at home, and you think you want Brittany out, so you're trying to get her fired, right? Be mature, Santana. Sleep on it and you'll be the best of friends in the morning." He softened a bit and gave me a very awkward hug.

"No, I don't want her fired." I mumbled as I left. Because I didn't. Looking back, sure, it seems like that's exactly what I wanted, but it's not. I just wanted him to know. And I wanted someone to be mad at you with me…but not like that.

I'm looking at you and you don't believe a word I've said. Or maybe you can't believe I was so stupid. Fair enough. I can't either. When I told you how I 'covered for you' (which I think is still kind of funny), all you said was,

"WHAAAAT?"

So I explained the rest of the conversation and you're still looking at me like I just swallowed Lord Tubbington whole; which, based on the pictures you've shown me would be imFUCKINGpossible. Good God that cat's fat. But I don't want to get in another fight. I don't want to go back and forth with this 'I fuck up then you fuck up' game. I tell you not to worry about it.

"How?' You look so scared. Not angry, just scared.

"Baby," I start. Now you look at me like I just gave birth to your child; proud and in love. I almost can't finish my sentence…"Everything will be OK. See how everything goes Monday. He's more upset with me than you anyway. If he's an asshole then text me and I will drop what I'm doing, run straight off set, and into his office to clothes-line the shit out of him."

"Should I call this number?" You say coyly, looking down at your necklace.

"Oh Honey," I nuzzle into your neck.

/

Our flights aren't until tomorrow, so you're insisting on me coming over for dinner. I'm not really good with parents…like, I don't know how normal ones work. I guess my mom's semi-normal, but I don't really know her that well. You say that Sam and Noah will be there and not to worry. Right, because they always make awkward situations so much better. But after what you did for me last night…Let's just say I'm now the one who can't say no. I can't stop thinking about it. I have never ever been so…taken care of. I should have guessed that if your eyes can melt me, your mouth could of course clean up the puddle. The way you didn't for one second take your eyes off me and even though I wanted to rush you, you just wanted to smell and taste and bite and…do you remember how Charlie treated the chocolate factory? Like there could never be anything better and he had to take it all in as if it would never open again? The way he unwrapped his chocolate bar so delicately, while everyone else barely missed ripping the golden ticket itself? That's what you did for me. You made me feel like there would never be anything else like this and you couldn't believe you got to enjoy me. A shiver just ran through my spine and you're giving me a look. I didn't even realize we had gotten on a train and now we're standing in the lobby of your mom's apartment. I need to stop think about last night.

The door is swinging open and you mom's on the phone talking really loudly as she lets us in with a smile. I am thrown off because she looks like the nicest woman I've ever seen. She looks like Carol Fuckin Brady. I'm side-eyeing you right now because you are surely mistaken about how 'mean' your mom is. She's pointing us to the living room because Noah and Sam are already in there watching T.V., waiting for dinner to be finished. She heads back to the kitchen.

"What's the word, Turds?' I say quietly, so your mom doesn't hear.

They both smile and I have to roll my eyes at their obliviousness.

"Hey Santana," Noah looks at me like I'm the Venus de Milo.

"I knew you guys would work everything out when I saw you leaving Tapas…" Sam smiles sadly.

"Oh were we arm in arm?" You perk up.

"Uh…kind of everything in everything. You were sloppy ass drunk and making out in front of the restaurant." Sam continues, speaking lowly.

"And why was your pervy self watching from afar?" I cock a brow.

"After the way you guys were acting at the table, I wanted to give you space, but not enough to kill each other…"

"Mhm"

"…even though it kind of looked like you were trying to do that anyway…"

I like this Sam kid.

Your mom comes in with the phone in her hand, having just hung up.

"Sorry girls; didn't mean to be rude. Dinner's ready. Sam, come help me set the table."

Sam bows his head and scurries after your mom like some field mouse…maybe I don't like him so much. After a few minutes, they're bringing out a big bowl of pasta with pesto sauce and sausage pieces. My mouth is watering like a fountain. I absolutely love pesto.

But I 'm not sure what the protocol is with saying grace in your house so I hold up. Lucky for me, everyone digs right in. Before I can get the flavor of basil on my tongue, I lose my appetite.

"So Santana, Sam here's been after my daughter's heart for years, but you've gone and had your way with her, huh?"

You cough and I can't even put down the fork that's halfway in my mouth because you mom's burning a hole through my eyes. She's mastered that hateful smile that feels more like a thousand knuckles in my ribs. My instinct—and I haven't had this instinct in quite some time—is to grab her by the hair, drag her across the table and give her not one, but a few pieces of my mind.

"Excuse me?" is all I can muster.

Noah is giggling and Sam looks like he knew this was coming.

"Oh don't get mad. Sam here probably feels like more of a dumbass than you, right Hon? All those ridiculous letters…all that walking around town, HA! Britt was playing you like a fiddle…I mean we all knew she was simple, but who knew she could be so easy." She snickers. " Poor Sam, you put in the time, but Ms. Rosie Perez here got the dime."

It's like she's joking. It's a kind of sarcasm I have yet to master. The kind where she will always be able to say ' I was just kidding' no matter how hurtful she is. Then I realize how long you've had to put up with this, so I look to you. You're crying into your pasta. I get up and start rubbing your back and shoot your mom the Lopez scowl. I hear these words leaving my mouth,

"Hey! I mean…Ms. Pierce…watch—watch what you say." I don't know how to be polite and callous at the same time…so it comes off awkward.

"Oh please, she's fine." She says.

You're hiccupping now and I just want to kiss those tears off your face. You excuse yourself to the bathroom and mumble that you're ok. I try and follow you, but you put up a hand pleading with me because we both know that would just make it worse.

Sam looks like a five year old. It's like he's been ridiculed by your mom countless times and he knows the best thing to do is just take it. Noah, on the other hand, has decided the best thing to do is stuff his face and keep his eyes on the plate. Brittany, I wasn't going to. I meant to politely sit down and not say another word. That was the plan…but I couldn't stop thinking that this was the way she must always speak to you. And then I thought of you as a little girl and how you must have been so resilient to keep your whimsical nature…or maybe that's your defense mechanism…either way she must have spray painted your rose-colored glasses everyday with a deep dark misery, and you must have spent so much time wiping it away.

"You're being ridiculous. The both of you." She continues. "You're just like her, you know? Thinking everything's just a dream and you can just smile through life. No wonder she fell for an actress. Another phony."

I push Sam out of the seat that was directly next to hers and bring it impossibly close to her so that we are sitting eye to eye. I make sure you haven't come out of the bathroom yet, but just in case I hiss out an intense whisper,

"With all due respect, Ms. Pierce. You are way out of line. You don't know me at all… But I sure as hell know you. I used to be you. Tearing people down because I couldn't see beyond my own ridiculous hangups… so believe me, I can handle your bullshit. But that girl over there? The one crying her beautiful blue eyes out over the sink? She's nothing like us. Any of us. She is the only one of her kind left… her heart beats for everyone else. And I will be damned if I have to sit here and watch you— "

"So you're dumb and blind? She left your ass!" She laughs in my face.

"No!—" Then I hush myself "No. She put her mother over her girlfriend. And I can understand that—I couldunderstand that, until I met you. But that just emphasizes the fact that she's a saint. Even though you are Lucifer himself, she'd rather put your mind at ease than make herself happy."

I see you emerge from the bathroom and grab our bags.

"You—" Your mom starts.

I guide you out the door; you seem to be drunk with sadness. I turn back and I must have shot fire from my eyes because I saw the faintest cower in her posture.

"You're disgusting." I mutter and slam the door behind me.

From the hallway, we hear her yelling things about how we think we're better than her. And you just laugh through your tears. "She gets like that." You say. I want to wrap you up forever and give you a better mom. But I just smile apologetically.

The next time you utter a full sentence is on the plane back home. Before that, all you do is answer my questions about being hungry, or tired, or feeling better. I think you were super embarrassed and of course sad. But you don't have to be embarrassed in front of me.

"I can't wait to get back home." You say.

And I smile because it makes me happy to hear you call it that.

I nod.

"You think your dad's going to kill me?"

"What did I tell you?" I tuck one of your golden tendrils behind your ear.

"I wish I would have clothes-lined my mom… Is it close-line or clothes-line?" You mumble.

I laugh carefully. I mean, that's your mom after all…I know how delicate those jokes can be. "She wasn't so bad." I say, just in case I wasn't supposed to find it funny.

"I guess now I can finally put my girlfriend over my mother."

"Oh," I know I'm flushed. "You heard that?"

"Yes I did. And I realized that what I'd really like to do is put my girlfriend over me."

I swear to God, Brittany. No one ever makes make blush as much as you. You come out of nowhere with these innuendos and I'm embarrassed. I never get embarrassed. I think I'm even batting my lashes at you. And it really doesn't matter that this whole time there's been someone sitting in between us because you lean over anyway and kiss me. Just one…two…three chaste pecks.


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: So we've officially changed perspectives…

Oh and imjustagirl2004 Hahahaha! I appreciate your honesty

Thanks again all for staying tuned…I know last chapter was a bit transitional, but let me know what you think!

11.

"He called you into his office?"

"I was in such big trouble, San."

"No!" I feel like a gossiping teenager.

"Just wait. So he calls me in, and I'm biting my nails—"

"Britt, you shouldn't do that. You're going to ruin—"

"Santana. I know. Just let me tell the story."

"Sorry, go ahead"

"So I'm nervous. He's leaning on his desk…which kind of reminded me of when you were leaning on the sink...so I blushed a little."—I smile and feel my cheeks heat up.—"I think he thought I was blushing because I was upset, so he put an arm around me. Now I don't know what'shappening. Am I in trouble or not? So he starts by saying, 'I know Santana can be a handful, but don't worry; blah blah… I didn't believe a word she said. I know how she can be. Blah blah..I still think you would be a great influence on her blah blah blah…" That's when he looks at me with these crazy shark eyes; the ones my mom has? So I nod like a maniac. He told me the same thing he told you. To sleep on it. He asked me if everything was alright with my family and the rest of the day just went on like I hadn't randomly been gone for a week."

"You're kidding!"

"Nope."

"That dickhead would blame me."

"Santana," You don't go on because you know it's hurtful. And that's what I love about you. As grateful as you are about keeping your job, you understand how much it hurts when a parent betrays you. And after all he's done, you know my dad is in no position to do that to me. In any case, we realize that now we have to hide because of me. Before, your career was at stake and now mine is. Can I tell you a secret though? Just like I would drop everything and roundhouse kick that motherfucker if he had said anything to you—I know I said close-line, but after that insult to injury I feel like head trauma would be more appropriate—I would do the same thing with my entire career. I'd quietly leave set, never come back, scoop your sexy ass up and leave that entire life behind just to tell the world that I love you. But I know how that would go. You'd spend your life convincing me I'd made a mistake. That we could have had it all: Me doing what I love, you doing what you love AND being together. That's how you are. You've figured out this world where everyone's happy and can have anything they want. So I'm going to try and live in that mind-space with you, ok? But I sometimes need you to remind me why it's worth the trouble. And I think you know that because you always do.

/

I like my hot chocolate with a hint of cinnamon. That hint needs to be present until the very last drop without being overpowering. That's my one backstage rider. Today though, Holly decided to get all creative and nutmeg it up.

"Pero, qu'es esto?" I exclaim after my first sip.

"Es tu chocolaté, Muñeca." She smiles back at me proudly.

"Please use the formal 'su' when addressing me." I smirk, taking another sip and forgetting the unfamiliar taste.

"Riiiight. That'll happen. You're lucky I remember that much."

"Oh please! I know you're secretly Hispanic…Holly Hernandez, right?"

"Loosely translated…yes," She laughs. "What is this? Does Effervescent Santana dare show her face before 11am?"

"No" I pout. "It's still Grumpy Morning Santana." She takes my chin between her pointer finger and thumb. "Don't lie. You'll have to spill exactly who you're scissoring that makes you this happy at some point."

"Holly!"

"Now hold on! Since when do you blush at my language?" She stands there for a while, looking from one of my eyes to the other. Then shouts, " Mercedes! Sugar c'mere!"

I slam my palm on my forehead because I fucking can't with these people sometimes. I was going to let the nutmeg slide…but now I know I'll need my cinnamon. Sugar comes bounding around a corner like a foal that just learned to trot.

"Getchya Motta runnin' " She sings as she settles.

Mercedes comes down the hall at her own damn pace. Not because everyone should have to wait, but her philosophy has always been "Why?"…as in "why rush?" or "why fight?" or "why not?" I love Mercedes like a sister, but I am none to patient this morning. Seeing my expression she raises her brows.

"I believe it was you who yelled for me. You can't be mad when I don't Tasmanian devil through the halls like this one." She gestures towards Sugar.

"I did not beckon."

"I did. It's a state of emergency—"

"Code red?" Interjects Sugar.

"Code pink." Holly quips.

"Nasty," Mercedes folds her arms, smiling.

"You guys…can I please…?"

They're all waiting for me to finish my sentence, but I know they know what I mean. I mean let me get by and go to my trailer so I can avoid any further embarrassment.

"What's her name?" Holly asks.

"Ooohhh who's name?" Sugar gasps, "Santana's taken a lover?"

"You don't call nobody? I thought we were besties, San. I know you're all dead to the world, but—"

"Don't even try it, Mercedes. You know I keep my shit on the low-low."

Sugar nods. "She enjoys her privacy."

"See. Sugar gets it. Plus, with Sue on my ass about 'maintaining a strictly dick-ly persona'…I'm just following the rules." I shrug.

"Santana, if you don't cut the crap right now—" Holly starts.

I see Mercedes shift her weight, unknowingly making a clear path from me to my trailer. I make a run for it and yell, "Her name is Brittany S. Pierce and she's the love of my life!"

I didn't hear them say:

"What the fuck was that?"

"I thought all she ever did was run lines after work."

"I don't even know who that was."

/

"Santana, I'm going to warn you. If you walk through that door without a steaming cup of protein shake for myself and my unborn child you might as well just head on back out."

I walk in anyway.

"Sue…it's my trailer."

"You're playing a risky game there, Rosario."

"As usual, you're in the middle of a conversation you've had only with yourself."

"As you well know, I enjoy any type of happiness or misery that befalls you—"  
"Mostly misery" I interject, and she nods.

"Which makes me the best Publicist L.A. has to offer. But things that reflect on me and my work…the empire I'm trying to build with you? Unacceptable. And I'm hearing some nonsense around the wine box— It's the publicist's version of a water cooler; we're classy…but also kind of trashy, you know? Anyway, I cannot have you coming out yet. That means no secret meetings, no casually holding hands, I don't even want you seen with another woman,"

"Please tell me that includes you…I'm assuming you've adopted some version of a vaginal canal for the antichrist you're birthing? In any case, how in the hell could you have heard about who I may or may not be dating?"

"Try not blabbing to your Dad, Smartass. He will always be your number one snitch. And while we all know that snitches do indeed get stitches, that golden rule applies only to those who don't account for half of your gene pool. He's not sure what's going on with you, but he doesn't trust it…so he's actually taking the matter into his own hands."

"What does that even mean? He's not sure so he's assuming the worst? Fucking guilty until proven innocent? There's absolutely nothing going on with me."

"He says you're making stuff up about his employee…and he's scared you're going to ruin your career trying to spite her…or worse go on one of your lady lovin sprees that we can no longer afford due to your increased publicity…you're welcome by the way."

"I seen or been seen with anyone in all the years you've known me, Sue; what lady loving sprees have you been fantasizing about?"

"Santana…I'd really appreciate it if you didn't lie to my face. Behind my back? Cool. In the next room? Better. But please…a little decorum."

"Oh my God."

"That's all I'm going to say, Lopez. You brought this on yourself."

Of course…I try and hurt you, Britt, and only end up punishing myself.

Sue pulls out her own thermos of protein shake. Watches me cross my arms and shrugs. "What? 'cause I asked you for a protein shake and I already have one? Santana, I'm drinking for two now. I figure if you're not going to take care of little Beelzebub here, I guess I should."

"How very motherly of you."

"Thank you. Now since I can only look after one child at a time, and your father insists on keeping an eye on you, he has enlisted two of his best reporters to keep you in line. Meet Blondie McDeadEyes and The biggest waste of height known to the world."

Two people emerge from the back of the trailer. I know them already. They've worked for my father for years...

"Quinn and Finn?…Mother of hell. These two are going to my wranglers?"

"They can be your worst enemies or your best friends…Your dad would rather it be his magazine that breaks any kind of news on you…because at least he'll be semi-kind. He figures you'll behave if you've got two tails. I had mine removed ages ago."

"Quinn, if you don't stop looking at me like that, I'm going to dye that hideous excuse for blond hair red with your own blood." I snap my head towards the emerald eyes boring a hole in my head.

"Looking at you like what?"

Finn's got his signature sleepy smile on. I can tell that when he senses danger it has to be abundantly clear and even now with me glaring at them, he's still unsure, but he speaks up anyway.

"We-we're just doing our job, Santana. I mean, we're all friends here."

I snort. Sue sighs and gets up to leave, "You three are theleast entertaining bunch of carnies I've ever had the misfortune of wasting the pleasure of my company on. Santana, do me a favor and try not to get a warrant out for your arrest over these two. They're just terrible, I know, but I promise it's not worth it."

As soon as she leaves, I realize that this is just like the roaches in the dark. In fact, I fucking hate these people more than either of those things. Finn finally feels the tension and excuses himself to the bathroom. I can't believe how badly I want him to stay. It's always been better if it's all three of us. And frankly, I simply cannot handle one on one moments with either one of these neanderthals.

"There—there's a bathroom in the back." I announce pretty loudly.

"Right." He nods and sadly heads to the back of the trailer.

Shit. Even this is torture.

"How've you been?" Quinn asks, sitting on the couch and crossing her legs.

I shrug looking away.

"Wow. I guess we've really run out of things to say, huh?"

"You tell me, Fabray." I say. She looks pretty sad, I've got to say. But I can't be bothered.

Finn re-enters reluctantly and looks between us in that frightened manner he always does.

"Alright Shadows," I sigh. "We might as well get to set. Just do me a favor and try not to even breathe too loud, 'kay? I'd like to do my best to pretend this shit isn't happening. If anyone asks, you're doing an article on me."

"We kind of are…"

"Good job, Finn."

This whole day is shit. I can't get any of my lines right and Mercedes is frowning at me because in all the years we've worked together I have never once fumbled a line. You can forget about getting my marks. I'm looking at the wrong cameras, I can't hear the director…I'm just thrown off. I really don't like having these two here. And to be honest, Quinn and Finn are on their phones most of the time so it really shouldn't bother me, but they still make me so… uneasy. The worst part is that no one else even notices they're there. Or, no, the real worst part is when people start to warm up to them. Can you believe it? Holly's offering Quinn a hot chocolate on break and I am violently rolling my eyes.

Quinn leaves and comes right back then timidly hands her hot chocolate to me.

"No thanks." I say

"I put cinnamon." She says and looks at me as if she's pleading. But for what?

"What do you want?" It wasn't meant to be said out loud. She is startled and swiftly hugs her hot chocolate to her chest then turns on her heels. I don't see her for the rest of the day.

On my way home, I try and think of what you would do. I know you certainly wouldn't be like this. Hell, I wouldn't be like this…not anymore anyway. And that's what it is: They bring out old Lopez; that unbridled hatred that stems from seemingly nowhere, and I'm not even sure who should be mad anymore. I forget what really happened because I've made up my own version, and lately it's gotten very hazy. It's the kind of cold shoulder that's gone on for so long that everything just turns into black ice…invisible and most volatile. They remind me of something I've blocked out, so all I remember is that I hate them, but not why.

Yet again, I'm standing behind the front door and I have no recollection of making the trip home.

"Brittany?" I say with a bit more intensity than I mean to.

"I'm in the kitchen, San."

I wish that seeing you in a jersey and underwear leaning on the counter were enough to take my mind off of work. You've got your fists on your cheeks and your butt is jutting out… and don't get me wrong…you look smokin. But I'm still too perturbed. You are deeply engaged in the notes you seem to be making and there's the deepest crease in your brow and you're biting on the inside of your lip…I've warned you about that.

"Babe…you're going to tear a hole through—"

"I know I know. But this is important. I had to stop putting on my pants just so I wouldn't forget."

I can't fight my smile. I relax and go back to the living room to start putting down my bag and jacket.

"What's so important?" I yell from the coat closet.

"Santana. I'm not supposed to say." You whine.

"Britt, come on." I return the sentiment. "I had a shit day. Please please give me some news."

"Shit day?"

"Don't change the subject," I say walking back to the kitchen and lean on the counter impatiently. "Tell me your secret."

"No." You shake your head sternly and snatch your piece of paper. "Sorry, but I've chosen to accept my mission."

"What?"

"You heard me." You turn to face me as you walk away…that may be enough to get my mind off of work…But no. I've got to stand my ground. You'll never tell me if I give in first. So I serve myself some of the delicious rice and corn you've made and pout on the couch. You come back, and instead of a paper and pen in your hand you have a full plate of food. You're looking at me the same way you did at Tapas.

"You mad at me?" You say. Fucking cutest thing I've ever seen.

I sigh and scoot over, unlike at Tapas. "No. I'm just mad. My dad's got Quinn and Finn …writing an article about me…and the Demented Duo fucked up my day."

"What? I want to write an article on you! Why wouldn't he pick me?... He's the one that said I was a good influence…"

And even as I see you doubting yourself, I'm not sure why I can't tell you that he's kind of going behind your back on this. That he did believe me. That he doesn't like you as much as you think he does…

"Um…yeah…but uh…we all have history…so they can do a better back story."

"Oh?" You look mildly dejected.

"My dad said it…not me. I think you've got a better…back…story than either of them." I gesture to your ass, which still happens to be pants-less.

"San, stop." You smile, cheering up. "So why was it a bad day then?"

"It was just really aggravating having them there...like staring…"

"Want me to teach you how to ignore people? I'm really good at it…"

I smirk.

"Too soon?"

Now I full on chuckle. "I don't know why it's not that easy, Britt. I've been ignoring …them…for years. "

You stop eating. "Wha?"

"They didn't tell you? My dad didn't tell you? I'm surprised. That chatty Cathy loves his gossip."

You shake your head with a hint of concern.

"Well, Quinn and I grew up together… So back when they were dating, I suggested they do an internship with my Dad and well…four years later, they owe me every cent they've made as 'star reporters'."

"So they've been married four years?"

I clear my throat. "Like...three? I think?" I shrug and shake my head because I really don't remember.

"So wait, what happened? You guys were the three amigos and then what?"

Suddenly, I have an idea. I put my empty plate on the ground and cross my arms.

"How would you like to make a deal?"

You furrow your brow in confusion. "I don't think I would like that at all."

"Okay….It's no biggie…just your secret for mine." I shrug.

"Yours isn't even a secret!" You laugh, nearly sending your plate off your lap and crashing to the ground.

"Well I guess now you'll never know…which by definition makes it a secret."

I can tell you're thinking about it. You slowly tilt your head from side to side for a bit then suddenly jolt with an idea.

"Okay! How about hints? I can give you hints! Then yougive me hints!"

This is going to be more fun than I thought.

"Ok."

"You first." You say, setting your plate on top of mine.

"Um…So like, what do I hint about…?"

"I guess…why you guys aren't friends anymore…? Like, give me letters that make up the answer or something."

"…I'll give you words. The first word is 'I'"

"Eye?"

"No 'I', like 'Me'"

"Oh Ok…."

"Give me an extra word because I elaborated on your hint."

"I wouldn't need it if you were any good at giving hints…" You mumble and I raise a brow smiling. "…But ok. Two words…ready? Your. Birthday. Isnextweek!"

"Britt! That's like 89 words!"

"Gosh San, what'd I tell you about exaggeration?"

"Sorry sorry. Ok. I'll give you the rest of my words; 'Don't. Remember'"

" 'I… don't remember'? Those are all your hints?...you don't…" You squint your eyes at me but I beam at you. You start to laugh and attack me with tickle-pinches. As I fend them off, I wonder how many more little white lies I'll have to tell you.


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: Get ready for a very short chapter J

12.

The best part about us is Saturday mornings.

When you read Calvin and Hobbes (or Carson McCullers), and I play my guitar. I know for a fact that neither of us can fully concentrate because I don't want to disturb you by strumming too loud and you know I can't write a song unless I'm completely alone…but who cares. It's so much better this way. I like hearing you randomly gasp at the poetry of McCullers' language and you like my whispered curses when I can't write the next line.

Every Saturday morning has been that way. Except today.

Today there are so many strangers in my house. You are not in my bed, but so many other people are, and I've got these twin pains in my lower back, which only happens when I drink too much.

I'm not getting up. I'm not.

My body has woken me up at 9am, but I'd rather try and piece my night together in the dark than open my eyes to see what mistakes I've made.

So if I haven't opened my eyes, how do I know you're not in my bed? Please Britt, you smell like passion fruit and vanilla extract…I would know if you were in the same county. It's the first think I sniff for every morning. It's what my car smelled like when you picked me up from work yesterday. You hate driving, but since this was your first time picking me up, you insisted on at least pulling up from the parking lot. You were late—which I now realize was on purpose—and I was mildly grateful that no one else was around because I didn't want any shit from Mercedes, Sugar, or Holly. They can never just be introduced to someone…they have to make a fucking production ofeverything. The smallest part of me wanted to see you all together, though. Somehow it's always a relief when two sides of your life meet.

You pulled up and were not wearing what you wore to work that morning. Holy shit. I wanted to ravage you immediately. Now. In the car.

There are light denim short shorts holding on to your thighs for dear life. There is a low cut pastel pink spaghetti strap tank under a loose sheer white shirt. I wanted to crawl through the driver's side window and attack. You laughed at me because my facial expression probably wasn't doing much to hide my horniness. Ugh and your hair's in a high pony? You know what that does to me. You scoot over and let me drive, so I get in and situate myself without taking my eyes off of you. Finally, I put my hands on the wheel, but not before taking one last look.

I sigh, "Well, it's a good thing you're not meeting my co-workers." I start driving, but can sense your pout.

"Why?"

"Britt, only these eyes get to ogle all of that…by the way, when and why did you change into those clothes? Wait, you know what, I don't care. Let's get to a rest stop because I needs you out of them."

You crack up, but I'm so serious.

"Santana, no! Straight home."

"Is it that you hate me?" I whine. "Or is it a marathon fuck you're after? Because that's the only thing you're stalling right now."

"Is that right?" You giggle.

"Ms. Pierce, what I'm saying is this: you can either let me have you now, or submit to me all night…up to you." I shrug.

" Santana, you know very well that even if I let you have me now you will still submit to me later. There's no either/or."

I furrow my brow at the road. Goddamnit, you're right.

I swerve into my driveway and follow you to the front door like a puppy. The last lock clicks and I hear the door ease open.

"Ok, let's—" I start.

"SURPRISE!"

"—fuck!" I finish the sentence startled…then repeat the last word, mildly disappointed. It wears off soon, though. There are too many friends around to not smile. Mercedes must have helped because everyone was there. I'm not really sure why your ex-coworkers or Quinn and Finn were invited, but whateves. Mercedes, Sugar, Holly, and even Joe and Rory showed up. People I haven't seen in ages are packed in tight, and they all want to say hi to me at one time. After I've hugged my way to the kitchen, I realized that I actually only knew half of the guests, but the other half know me by name…for obvious reasons I guess? I have a habit of forgetting that my occupation puts me in millions of peoples' homes on a weekly basis. And it still weirds me out.

I find myself cornered by your ex co-workers; Bangs, Yellow Ranger, and Ramptastic, on the far side of the kitchen. Before you say anything, I'll have you know they were complete rudeness to me when I was going crazy after your disappearing act…so I approach them with that in mind.

"We never officially met." Ramptastic smiles at me with his ridiculous Chiclet teeth and offers a gloved hand. I try for that smile that your mom gave me, the one that felt like a thousand knuckles to the ribcage? But I guess he's immune, or perhaps his paralysis goes higher than I thought …because he simply places his hand back on his lap and keeps talking,

"Well, um…I'm Artie, and this is my girlfriend Tina…that's Rachel." He lowers his voice, "I'm really sorry about her attitude during our initial introduction…we all are. That's why we came; as a sort of peace offering… Happy Bir—"

"I, for one, refuse to apologize"—A flurry of bangs enters my vision. She's holding what I can only assume is her third or fourth apple Martini—"Santana, is it? Happy Birthday and all, but you can't just kick through an office door and bark orders at people."

"You do it every day, Rachel." Tina interjects.

Rachel whips her head to Tina, "I do not damage public property. I do not demand information regarding people I have no business asking about. And I most certainly do notsnap peoples' head bands in thirds." She's now glaring at me.

"I gave you money for another one." I chuckle, shrugging.

"You threw it in my face and told me to find a surgeon who could remove the stick from my…my ass."

"To be fair, Rachel, you did say that you wouldn't tell her where Britt was even if you did know…and Santana was kind of at the end of her rope…" Tina says, carefully.

"…To say the least…I thought she was some vagrant from off the street," Rachel mutters.

I can laugh about it now…imagining what I must've looked like while I was looking for you…pretty sure neither a comb, nor sleep or even food were involved in my daily routine for those few days. Twin shots are now floating in front of my nose—and might I add just in time because I was just getting ready to smash another headband…and maybe the head it encircled. I turn to find that it's Holly holding the clear shots in each hand. Not quite the blond I was hoping for…

She hands me both shots and proceeds to pour one for herself, Artie, Tina, Bangs, and Sugar, who somehow found her way into this newly formed loop.

"Listos?" Holly starts.

"Wait!" I hold up a hand, "What is this? And why do I have two?"—haven't I heard those words before?

"Patron, and because it's your Birthday, Silly girl!" Holly smiles and winks at me.

"Fuuuuuck." I say knocking them both back and vaguely remembering that I haven't eaten dinner. But before I can protest, 3 more shots have entered my system and I suddenly must dance. Kings of Leon's "Soft" is pulsing in my ears and my entire house looks like a fucking mosh pit. I smile because it's beautiful—and I'm drunk. I started looking for you and I can feel the 5 shots starting to make their way through my bloodstream because my lips are suddenly numb and I don't remember drinking any of whatever's in this half empty solo cup. All I know is that I'm suddenly angry-dancing and I want everyone and no one to touch me. People are cheering me on even though it's obvious that I'm in some sort of frenzy, until two hands are at my shoulders. I open my eyes to find Mercedes laughing with tears in her eyes. Her red, red eyes.

"Sa- Santana…What in the hell are you doing?"

"I—" I blink and start laughing with her. "I couldn't find anyone I wanted to dance with…"

"Well, your roommate didn't have to look too hard!" Mercedes points across the room and I see a flash of blond. "She's so sweet, San. You know she set this whole thing up herself?…You should find yourself some one like that. Not some crazy ass…whatever name you said when you were running down the hallway…."

I'm only hearing parts of what Mercedes saying, and I'm caring even less about the parts I am hearing because I'm trying desperately to put my next sentence together.

"B-but where has she been all night?" I whine, not taking my eyes from the flashes of blond.

"Everywhere, girl! She's been a good host while your belligerent self's been a mess. A hilarious hot ass mess."

"Tell 'er," I pull Mercedes in real close so my mouth is basically on her ear and she starts giggling uncontrollably. I whisper quite loudly "Tell 'er I waanna dance with her."

"You better not cheat on this new 'love of your life', San!And with your roommate? Uh unhhh." Despite her words, Mercedes grabs my drink and downs the rest as she pulls me towards you. She tells me to wait as she wanders off, but I continue on my rapt quest towards you. I've seen you dance before…or I thought I had…but tonight…Your hips turn infinite figure eights so slowly. I can see how the move starts in your toes, moves up your ankles, knees, thighs….Your eyes are closed. Your hands are running through your hair and you've got the sexiest smile on your face—and I just know you're drunk too. I've only ever seen it when I too am intoxicated, so it has a certain effect. Fire. Fire's the effect. My inhibitions are long gone, so I'm tearing through the crowd because I need to drag you into a corner and take care of business…but on my way I catch a glimpse of the hands on your waist…I stop, just a few feet away because a different type of flame has just sparked. Suddenly, there's an open palm dragging itself across my abdomen. It doesn't distract me until I feel the hot breath on the back of my neck, and a gravely voice slurs,

"Don't get jealous, San..."

I look up from my feet, where I'd been staring when trying to decipher the voice while mentally swatting away the misleading tingles it had given me; and find your eyes on me. Well, more on the person behind me…you're mouthing, "No!" and making a bee-line in this direction.


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: I think we're back on schedule? Enjoy!

Nayalove – I hope your questions were answered about Santana's dad and Brittany, as well as Quinn and Finn following Santana, in the last chapter…let me know!

Thanks for reading guys and let me know if you have any questions or comments J

13.

I don't move, but you move me. Only someone as graceful as you could do so both aggressively and with a gentle hand. You grab the thick straps of Quinn's dress and pull her up to you.

"What are you doing?" You growl. Holy Fuck.

"Get off me! I was just talking to her," Quinn struggles to loosen your grip.

"I saw your hands, Asshole."

"So the fuck what?" Sue me! I was touching my friend.Our friend. I mean…she is just your friend…right, Pierce?" Quinn smiles like the fucking snake she is and glances around a now silent room full of potential witnesses and fans. You, on the other hand, are panting; so you let go of her and look around a bit until a lazy half smile creeps onto your face.

"That was my best Kevin Costner, whadaya think?" You say to the guests.

Someone screams, "Best Bodyguard ever!" And the music bleeds back into the room. You cut your eyes at Quinn, who rolls hers and walks away. Now you're stumbling to me, "Rachel, go 'way" you say. I didn't even feel the little one hugging my side.

"Juss telling San'na tha' I w-I woulda done…because she's gorgeous y'know? An' when she broke m'hangbang I wan't even that mad…Kinda jusss wanted to make out anyway…" You push Rachel so she falls into the people behind her then take my hand, grumbling, "How manyfucking people at this party want my girl?"

We're in my room when you finally turn around. I smooth back your hair and caress your flushed cheeks with my thumbs until your breathing returns to normal. Suddenly, you're embarrassed. "I'm a jealous drunk." You say, as if you yourself have just realized it. "I've never gone out with some one so pretty…"

"That makes two of us…on both counts."

You furrow your brow in disbelief, "When did you have time to be jealous? I haven't seen you all night."

"I saw you," I say looking at the ground, "…and Finn."

"Oh please, San." You roll your eyes playfully, "I was trying to help him understand rhythm. He wants to learn how to dance for that—"

"Quinn!" I jump.

She appears from my bathroom, arms crossed and looking me up and down as slowly as possible. She says, "No, he's never really been able to keep up."

"Quinn, I'm going to tell you one more time. Don't. Look At me. Like that." I warn.

"Like what? She smiles at you now.

You approach her. "She said not to fucking look at her, Quinn. So don't. You hear me?"

"Loud and clear, Cinderella."

You look at me and clench your jaw, but I silently beg you to calm down with pursed lips and a creased brow.

"What is your deal?" You hiss at Quinn.

"I have no deal, Britt. I have a job to do. I have a friend to protect and I—"

"Pretty sure you don't touch friends that way—"

"You would know—"

I'm watching the exchange, but the slap happens so quickly that I don't catch whose hand it came from.

Until you turn to me with tears in your eyes.

"I'm sorry," You snivel. You walk out of the room and Quinn's hand does nothing to hide the glowing red print across her face as she makes her way back to my bathroom.

Fucking shit. I'm in no condition to be making these types of decisions. Obviously, I want to go to you. But Quinn's hurt…and she's so much easier to find…

I drag my feet to the doorway of the bathroom and watch her dab her cheek with moist toilet paper.

"That's not going to do anything," I mutter leaning on the doorframe.

"Fuck off, San." She blubbers through tears. She sucks in a breath and pulls the paper away.

"Shit," I whisper. There is an inflamed handprint from her cheekbone to her jaw line. I walk in and grab ice from one of the forgotten Solo cups on the sink.

"Santana, ew." She says watching me.

"Shut up." I say, not bothering to wrap the ice cube in one of the countless washcloths around the room. She's looking at me while I concentrate on sliding the ice across her cheek.

"I really am just trying to protect you…" She says.

"From who, Quinn? You like Britt. You work with her. And if I remember correctly, we haven't exactly been friends for a long time."

"It's more complicated than that—"

"It's really not. Here, hold the cube yourself." I pass her the ice and continue, "We've had this argument so many times that, much like our friendship, it's lost its meaning. When you heal your shit? Kindly get the fuck out of my house." I turn to leave then turn back, "And please, for the love of all that is holy, take that gangly excuse for a marionette with you."

There is a pang of guilt in my chest as I leave the room to look for you. Not because I went to Quinn first, not because you're probably wondering where I am…but because I have a feeling Quinn needs me. And because I don't really hate her anymore…I'm pretty sure I'm just avoiding her.

You're in the kitchen making yourself a drink and wiping away tears. The party hasn't slowed, by the way. A houseful of people thrash about, and the only reason I can see you is that I'm at the top of the stairs. When I reach you, you push past me with your drink and I nearly fall down because I'm still not so steady on my feet. But I rebound quickly and grab your drink as you start to walk away.

"Hey!" You yell over the noise. I look at you as I chug it, but only get halfway through because you grab it back—spilling some in the process— and chug the rest.

"That was disgusting." I cough, finally realizing the taste.

You smirk, "It was SoCo…and Tequila…and Vodka…and—"

"Oh God. Stop."

You sigh. "What is it with you and her?"

"I told you—"

"Don't lie to me Santana."

"I know." I know?

"I know?"

"Sorry, I'm drunk."

"You know you're lying though…you know why you didn't come after me first." You cross your arms.

"It's um…you know when you make plans with your best friend and someone else for the same day by accident?"

You nod once.

"And you always break plans with your best friend because you know they won't hate you for as long as the other person?" I attempt, but your pout remains.

"But you hate Quinn."

"Brittany…she used to be my best friend. For a long, long time. Like…you and Sam close…but now you're my best friend, and right now it's kinda important that she doesn't completely hate me. I mean, I kicked her the fuck out…so I probably ruined any chance of that, but…"

You giggle a little. And soon you're tickling my arm until we're almost holding hands; you take my pinky in yours instead, and lead us out the front door. Quinn doesn't see us as we pass her on her way back in. She's chasing after a drunk Finn who's yelling about his jacket or something. We stop right outside my door as it shuts behind her.

"Santana?" I didn't know you were watching me watch the door close.

"Hm?" I look to you.

"When will you tell me about you and Finn and Quinn?"

"I love you because you're not forcing me to tell you now."Oh Gosh, that was supposed to stay in my head.

You smile and say, "I love you too, but that's not what I asked."

"Sorry. I uh…I don't know when, Britt. When I figure out how? When I figure out what even went wrong?"

"But you'll tell me?" You look at me from under your lashes and I brush the wisps of hair from your eyes.

"Mhm. Honest."

You immediately continue dragging me down the walkway by my pinky.

"Ha! She left her car door—Britt no!" I look behind us as you pull me into Quinn's open car door. Her large Escalade is parked directly in front of my house and she must have left the passenger's side open when Finn drunkenly ran back for his jacket. I shut the door quickly, shivering with excitement and maybe more trepidation than I care to admit.

"These tints are so illegal…" You mutter.

"Yeah, she's always had it like this; it's the ultimate pot dungeon. She used to be the biggest weedhead, so she didn't want cops to see inside…of course she never got anything but warnings…. spoiled brat." We sit in silence for a bit…I keep looking to my front door, but when I glance to my left, you're looking at me like you're gong to eat me alive…and I sure hope you do. But I shake my head intensely,

"Brittany no! Not here! She'll be back any second." I try to remain as rational as possible.

"Lock the doors and get in the back seat." You say. I shake my head; so you repeat yourself, slowly: "Lock the doors. And get in the back seat. Now." I do as I'm told and as I crawl to the back, you follow me. I wish I weren't so drunk. I'm supposed to stop you…or make you hurry up. But I like the way you smile as you trace my legs up to the hem of my skirt. The way you lick your lips at the sight of my tits.

"Like what you see, Brittany?" I say looking at my chest, then smirking at you.

"I like that it's all mine."

"You wish." I tease. You lean in and tickle your fingers up my thigh.

"I don't need to wish, Santana." You cup me and gasp. "Mmmm Did you forget something tonight, Love?"

"I took them off after we got home," I whimper. You begin to explore my folds with your middle finger and lick the shell of my ear as you ask, "Why?"

"They were all wet." I sputter.

"Oh?" You pause. "Quinn made you wet at work, didn't she?"

I furrow my brow and pull my chin into my neck at the absurdity of the question. So you pull back too and we're nose to nose as you search my eyes, stopping your ministrations. Suddenly you scoot back, and lick your finger.

I panic, "Of course not! No! She doesn't make me wet at all! Come back, please!"

"No." You say calmly, "You took too long." You lean against the window—with your back to my front door—and start to unbutton your shorts as you glare at me. "I'm going to give you one last chance to be good. "

"I can be good, Britt." I nod as your panties come into view. Your shorts are at your knees and you've reclined so far that you're basically lying down with one leg on the seat and the other hanging off of it. You're smirking and running your hands along your open thighs.

"See what you do to me?"

I nod again, crawling over your limbs to pull your panties to the side, letting one finger play with your clit.

"I see you've enjoyed teasing me all day, " I grunt as you gasp. I'm not sure what this game we're playing is, but I like it; the dirty talk, the way your nails have found their way to my shoulder blades, and especially the way you want to have me and hurt me simultaneously—huge fucking turn on.

"Mmm yes I have, babe," You moan.

"These shorts…" I say as I yank them the rest of the way down and throw them towards the trunk. "This shirt…" I rip the sheer one and bite you through the tank top. You're writhing in no time, so I pet you over your panties until you're mewling. Finally, I put my mouth on you. You'll never know that the wait has been torture for me too. "Tastes like cherry pomegranate Snapple." I mumble.

"Santana! Fuck!" You buck into my mouth and I can feel you tighten around my tongue. My hands are mauling your breasts and you scratch your way up my arms as you feed yourself to me, riding my tongue to orgasm.

Before you're even done coming down, you straddle me, still quivering; and say,

"I can't wait till Quinn smells you on these seats and knows it was me who made you cum so hard." I sit up to kiss you and grab your ass, but you push me roughly into the opposite car door; I look up at you and bite my lip. As you smile down at me hungrily, my front door opening over your shoulder catches my eye.

"Brittany!" I yelp, but that's when you lift my skirt and start pulling on my clit.

"Poor San's been wet for me all day, huh?"

"Oh Britt, yes." I let my eyes flutter close and mumble "…The door."

You look back to see Quinn standing on my front step, attempting to haul Finn by his monstrous arm.

"Oh shit!" You look back to me.

"Britt! You can't stop." I sigh as my head falls to the side.

"You want them to see me lick you up?"

"Yes" I moan, "I want everyone to know this pussy's yours."

You've already made your way down and are humming into me in agreement, but quickly come up to kiss me feverishly. You start pumping 2 fingers in and out of me.

"Santana? I want you to scream when you cum ok? Can you let them know who's fucking you so good?"

I'm shaking as I see Quinn look right through me from the walkway. I know she can't see me spread eagle in her back seat, but my back arches at both your words and the thought of her catching us.

"This is mine." You bite my neck. Quinn's approaching the car with Finn tripping behind her. She looks back and waves him over, as you continue, "So don't stay upstairs with anyone even if I slap the shit out of them, ok? You come and get me, understood?"

"Yes, Yes, Yes," I chant as every pump pushes us closer to the car door I'm leaning on until we're face to face, and my arms are around your neck pulling the edges of your hair.

"Because I love you." You kiss me and nearly swallow me whole then say into my mouth "And because you love me, I'm yours too."

Quinn is struggling with the door handle as I explode all over the seat and squeal your name into your temple; my fists balling up your hair.

/

I open my eyes and Quinn and Finn are nowhere to be found. I don't know how much time has passed, but you're sleeping on my chest with your panties at your ankles, your white shirt hanging off one arm, and your tank exposing your naked back like a tube top at your navel. I'm slouching against the car door and my skirt's just under my naked tits. My legs are still hugging you under your arms with my heels at the small of your back, and my shirt and bra hang from the back of my neck like necklaces. It's still dark out. I find myself tracing patterns along the freckles on your back when I realize where we are.

"Fuck Britt! Get up!" I scramble, putting on my bra and pulling down my shirt as much as I can, while trying to wiggle from under you. But you just lazily point to the steering wheel and say 'no'.

"What? You can't 'no', we have to…"

You continue pointing to the steering wheel.

"Britt, what're…" I look to see Quinn's platinum Tiffany's keychain swinging from the car keys, which are dangling halfway in the ignition. I sit all the way up, "You little shit. You saw those before?"

Your head has slid into my lap and you look up smiling,

"Santana, I would never have taken my time if I knew they could unlock the doors…" You start to sleepily uncurl from me and pull up your tank, doing your best with the ripped over-shirt.

I smile at you, "Yes you would."

"Maybe I would." You nod smiling.

I kiss you softly and slowly then say, "I would never rush with you either, Honey. There's always something new to devour."

"Let's get the hell outta here, before you start something you can't finish," You say puling your up your panties.

"Like a marathon fuck?" I ask, pulling my skirt to my hips, "Oh I can finish."

We giggle into the house and it's like we never left. And like you're not just entering in your ruined underwear. Not a soul turns their head. It's about 2:30 in the morning and people have yet to hit that 'let's order pizza' lull. So we just start taking shots of whatever's left. Just me and you.Sneaking off into the kitchen and cracking up between each one like a couple of eighth graders raiding their parents' liquor cabinet. Next thing I remember, I'm here. Sprawled out diagonally on my mattress, daring to open just one eye, and there's blond hair distorting my vision. Oh. Good. I guess we did find our way to the same bed.


	14. Chapter 14

Let's face it, friends, there is no schedule. J anyway. I promised I'd warn you when we were getting close to the end…well, here we are…close to the end. Enjoy

14.

We're not really spooning since there's someone curled up in a ball by my knees, and there are several legs over our hips. But your head is touching my nose, so I kiss the back of it.

"I think we should fuck in her car all the time," I whisper. My voice sounds like I swallowed gravel.

"Whose car?" Before she finishes the question, I know it's not you. I may not have recognized the voice last night, but even through this impossible hangover and mild spinning, I can tell your sweetness from her sour. And now with both eyes open, I realize how short the blond hair in my face is. I kick my way out of bed and watch her turn slowly.

"Good morning, Sannie," She sounds like she swallowed gravel, sand paper, and thorns. "I'm feeling a lot better." She's still drunk.

"Quinn…you can't be here…not in my bed…not in my house…" I start waking backwards and trip over Finn passed out in Artie's wheelchair. There are other bodies on the floor …but I don't recognize them.

"Okay, " she says, turning back to sleep.

I don't know why, but I'm scared. And where are you? I check every single room and even the lawn, where many seem to have made their beds; and still nothing.

Then I remember where you wanted to put your bed and head to the cellar.

/

"I just wanted to know which one you were trying to do."

"What?" Quinn's so drunk that she's exhausted, and frankly befuddled by the woman in the ducky undies. "Where're your shorts? Did you finally decide to stop hiding your lady boner?"

The insult goes unnoticed. "You said you had a job to do and a friend to protect…which one are you trying to do?"

"What're you talking about? Both…Ugh…I thought you were here to apologize."

"I-I am, but you can't do your job and protect her right? They're opposites."

"Brittany, you have no idea—"

"Yes I do. I have every idea. I know how you work. You and Finn didn't get where you are writing nice exposes."

"Get the fuck out Brittany."

"I don't think so, Quinn. This is my house. And you're in my bed."

"No it's her house. And her room."

"Still my bed," Brittany mumbles. She pouts at the foot of the bed with her elbows on her knees and cradling her face. Quinn is lying on back with her hands behind her head looking at her.

"I wouldn't do that to her," She finally says.

Brittany looks back at her. "Yes you would. You want her so bad! You'll do anything."

Quinn squints at Brittany, wobbles to her knees and kneels behind her on the bed. "What about you?" She starts playing with Brittany's hair.

"She's my roommate."

"Her dad thinks you're going to ruin her, Britt. If he finds out you are anything more than that—" Quinn pulls Brittany's pony so her head arches back and their eyes meet. Sky blue and the green monster.

"He's either going to out her in his magazine as a preemptive strike, or fire you."

"…But I'm a good influence…" Brittany pushes Quinn away lazily by her throat so she falls back on her elbows and says,

"Don't you get it? He doesn't trust you…why do you think he chose me and Finn to do this…not because we're friends…but because…"—she pauses for a painful swallow and continues—"we're not."

"Why would he—"

"He's protecting her. Just like me."

"Well…I'm going to tell her."

"She already knows."

/

You're sleeping on an air mattress in the cellar. There are webs of blonde across your face and your ponytail hangs loosely down your back. I turn on the light and inhale your vanilla extract with a certain relief.

/

Brittany's crying. So Quinn leaves. She bumps into Finn on her way out while saying 'sorry'.

"There you are," He slurs, smiling.

"I'm sorry." She repeats and looks inside the room before stumbling downstairs.

Brittany doesn't know who walked in, but she feels a presence, so she just starts talking into the hands covering her face.

"She won't tell me anything. Not Finn and Quinn. Not that her Dad hates me…I thought we were…I mean, I know we have to…but I didn't think it would be this hard…" She uncovers her face to see Finn kneeling in front of her.

"You and Quinn just love being your knees," She sniffles. And he's so tall that he's actually face to face with her as she sits on the bed. He laughs and sways backwards,

"What?"

"You know Santana?' Brittany blurts, attempting to focus her less than sober teary eyes.

"Well, yea,." He wipes her face roughly with his sleeve. "She's kind of really tough to crack. She's a great friend…and stuff...but you'll never really know when you have…all of her…you know?"

Now he's got his hands on her calves. It's supposed to be comforting.

"Why won't she tell me about you?" She sighs and crosses her arms.

"About me?"

"What happened? You guys were all friends."

"Oh…Brittany…"

Santana's been shuffling around the house looking for blurry faces with blond hair and blue eyes. She passes by an open door and finds the one sitting on a bed…with the same large, clumsy hands that were on her waist earlier on her. She knows it's not what it looks like, but can't help going to find Quinn anyway. She doesn't hear Finn say that it's not his story to tell.

/

I kiss your bare shoulder and sit by you to rub your back while you sleep. I don't know why I feel so sorry.

/

"Go get your husband."

"He's better with crying than I am. Especially with people I don't particularly like."

"Ugh, Quinn." Santana is panicked. She trusts Brittany, but not Finn. And she's also drunk so her normal impatience is heightened. She wants to take care of this right now so she doesn't have to spend the night crying about the possibilities. Quinn is being so fucking nonchalant that it actually makes her sad. She doesn't know what losing Brittany would mean for Santana. Even Santana doesn't know, but the thought is currently bringing tears to her eyes.

"Aww, Baby." Quinn's tone has only the tiniest sprinkle of sarcasm. It's familiar to Santana because in high school this was how they got along. Quinn is sitting on a chair in the corner of the living room. The music has softened and people are dropping like flies. Quinn has her arms out and is beckoning the standing Santana to sit on her lap. Because she's sad and drunk, she does; remembering to tuck her skirt underneath her; unlike Brittany, she's wearing everything but underwear...

"Now, Sannie,"

"Don't call me that."

"Now, Sannie. Do you remember what we used to do when we got mad at our boyfriends?" Quinn's hands are around Santana's hips, and her chin on her shoulder, with her lips right on Santana's ear. Santana shutters. She knows what happened last time she and Quinn cooked up this kind of plan. She knows it was the beginning of the end.

"Quinn. I'm not doing that again…and anyway…she's just my roommate. I just don't want your Jolly Beige Giant doing something he'll later regret...again."

Santana is seated sidesaddle, her hip and shoulder are against Quinn's front. Quinn has not moved her lips from Santana's ear and is taking the opportunity let her eyes roam wantonly over Santana's face from a very close angle. She is starting to have those thoughts that would, back in the day, provoke an impassioned make out session. The kind where Santana would wonder why it felt so much better than with boys, and Quinn would convince herself she was doing it for the attention. Her feelings for Santana were so convoluted that she'd go from wanting to rip her clothes off in one second, to wanting to rip her face off in the next. Not to mention her possessive nature. She knew Santana better than anyone else, and vice versa. No amount of time could erase the fact that there was a shit ton of history between them. She and Santana had seen sides of each other they vowed never to let anyone else see—times Quinn had lost family members and they would just hold each other, times when Santana would confess that she was terrified of roller coasters so Quinn ditched the rest of their friends for the whole day just to keep her company. They'd taken baths together as babies, put their sneakers on the wrong foot as preteens just to see the other pee her pant with laughter, and keyed each others' cars as teenagers. And all of that hatred, love, and friendship was why Quinn just couldn't let her go. This was the need that Santana could sense. Not only was it abundantly clear in the current vice grip around her hips, but at some point she'd felt it too. She knew what it was like to watch a friend share intimacies that you'd thought were reserved for the two of you alone, with someone else. It had happened with Finn and Quinn, and Santana would get over it, and now it was happening with Brittany and Santana, and Quinn would not. Santana knew how to separate the two kinds of love. Quinn did not. Quinn treated every friend like a lover and every lover like a friend.

"What's going to happen when she finds out?" Quinn whispers as Santana lays her head on her shoulder.

/

Finn does want to kiss her. She's much prettier than his wife. Gentle and soft. Kind. He's rubbing her calves because she's letting him, but also to keep his hands busy; After all, she is in her underwear, and he'd never cheat…intentionally. Brittany sees him eyeing her lips and is disgusted. She puts the soles of her shoes on his chest and pushes him onto his back then glares at him on her way out. Where's Santana?

/

You blink yourself awake so cutely.

"Good morning, Honey." I say and kiss the right blond head this time.

"Oh my God. Let's never ever drink again. Ever. Oh my God. Ever."

"Tonight's low key, just a birthday dinner with my parents." I snuggle into you and wrap your arms around me.

"Both of them?"

"Mhm. It's a stupid tradition. An attempt at conserving what little family we have left by acting like phony assholes and inviting as many buffers as possible."

"Buffers?"

"Random ass friends of the family…but only like 10 people…don't worry. I made that rule after my 21st birthday when I realized that I couldn't nurse a hangover andpretend to care about more than two handfuls of people."

You nip at my shoulder, so I add, "But I'll only have to pretend for 9 of those people tonight..."

Now I feel kisses on the hairline on the nape of my neck..

"Santana Lopez?" You whisper.

"Yes, Brittany S. Pierce?"

"Um, can I have all of you?" Your tone is so timid that it makes me smile.

"Pretty sure you took everything I had in Quinn's car last night."

You chuckle as I turn to face you and put the sheets over our heads.

"Finn says," You start carefully, "that I'll never know if I have all of you… But you've got all of me…so I want you to know you're safe. Whenever you're ready…to stop lying." You say it kindly. You're forgiving me. But I've been on the defensive since I heard Finn's name.

"I'm not…completely lying…" I drum my fingers on your collarbone, "I'm protecting you…"

"Like Quinn was protecting you?"

"Sure. Like Finn was protecting you."

"What?"

This cocoon has gotten warm and not in the way it usually does. So I unwrap and get out.

"Nothing. I'm going to shower then I'll kick these fucks out and start cleaning up." I'm not sure why I announce this as I get up.

"Make sure to kiss Quinn good morning for me." You say to my back.

"Already did!" I yell from the stairs, and immediately regret it; but slam the door behind me anyway. I hear a faint 'Happy Fucking Birthday' and it's like getting the wind knocked out of me.


	15. Chapter 15

The time has come. Last chapter, friends. Thank you all for the lovely questions and comments, you've been awesome.

15.

"Will someone please tell me what happened to Quinn's pretty face?" My mom starts dinner off right.

"Finn went all Ike and Tina on her ass. That's why he's not here." I retort, and I'm the only one laughing.

"He had to work." Quinn snarls at me and continues to the rest of the table, "I got …caught up…while doing a story."

"Yes, hard hitting journalism indeed." I should stop. I'm well aware that I'm pushing it…but just like before, Quinn's just easier to get to. You're pinching my thigh as a warning under the table because even though we're in a fight, you never cease to balance me out; you love me even when you hate me. Because Quinn's on your other side, she's privy to this exchange, and attempts to catch my dad's eye; but he's too busy being awkward around his current wife and his ex. I know he only brought his sister and Matty to act as life preservers…as if my brother and sister weren't enough... especially since my mom and his wife have never been anything but civil to each other. They're currently sharing Mac/PC anecdotes and my dad's looking on like some scolded child waiting for his punishment.

"Can—Can I make a toast?" He exclaims much louder than necessary.

"Here here!" My brother cries.

Once he's accomplished his goal of interrupting a certain conversation, Dad is at a loss for words. But like the good little brown-noser she is, Quinn chimes in.

"I'd like to wish a happy birthday to Santana. I'm so glad we're still such good friends after all these years." She chirps and gives the most disturbing smile since your mom's. Quinn sits and I just have to rebut, so I stand,

"Thank you all for reminding me why we only do this once a year"—everyone laughs—"and thank you Quinn for—"Oh my God her hand's on your thigh. Pinching it like you were pinching mine.

"For?" Quinn smiles up at me.

"For…" I stammer.

"Being a friend?" You say brushing Quinn's hand a way. It swiftly returns.

"Her heart is true," My mom says.

"She's a pal and a confidant," My aunt laughs.

The table, of course, breaks into a spontaneous rendition of The Golden Girls' theme song. I've noticed that when people are nervous and awkward, they take any opportunity to do something random just to have something to talk. And since I'm still standing and watching you continuously swat Quinn's hand away; I'm singing though gritted teeth.

We end in raucous laughter—some of it forced— and my Dad asks you to get another bottle of wine from the cabinet in the kitchen.

"Which one?" You ask.

"Quinn, would you mind?" He says.

You both get up and I can only let Matt finish half a question before I have to excuse myself and 'help' you two.

I walk in to the kitchen to find you passing Quinn the bottle of wine.

"Is it that you're gay now Quinn? Are you projecting your coming out story on to my life? Is that what this article's about?"

"Don't be so dramatic, Santana." Her eyes are winter green now.

"Why were you touching my—roommate's leg?"

"Why do you care?" Quinn gives me a shit-eating smile.

"The same reason I care that you and Santana were in the same bed all night." You venture.

"Brittany, nothing—" I start.

"There was touching, San. I saw it. You were cuddling…so close."

I literally have no idea what you're talking about. But if it's what I think it is…I might throw up.

"Well…I could say the same about you and Finn." I cross my arms insecurely.

"No you couldn't, Santana. I kicked him in the chest."

"Oh for Christ' sake! She punched me!" Quinn throws her arms up in the air.

"Whaaa?" You say.

"This mark isn't from your ridiculous little smack, Pierce. Santana punched me in the face when I tried to snuggle her, ok? …Kept saying something about Vanilla extract? …I dunno. But I do know one of you jealous bitches is about to crack."

"We're not dating!" We say in unison.

"Oh?" Quinn crosses between us and starts uncorking the wine with her back to us, "Then why are Brittany's shorts in my trunk?"

You and I exchange a look of utter terror.

"Those aren't mine." You blurt.

"…Right…because you didn't spend half the night walking around in your underwear…and if I remember correctly, Santana, you mentioned enjoying a fuck in a car while we were in bed this morning? I'm assuming you thought I was Britt here."

Fuckity Fuck shit Fuck.

Quinn slowly turns to face us.

"You have absolutely no proof of anything, Mrs. Magoo. I was in a drunken stupor—I mean, why else would I even let you in my bed, much less blather on about some fuck that never happened—and those shorts could be anyone's…how would anyone even get in your car? Admittedly, You've had some very blond moments, but I highly doubt even you would do something as idiotic as...I dunno, leave a door open."

I say this with an air of confidence that could have only been earned from years of bullshitting.

Quinn shrugs, "Or…maybe you'll slip again…and somehow, your friendship won't survive." She says with a mocking pout, "But you know all about love not being enough, right San?"

"No, I think it'll survive. She knows enough love." A tiny voice enters the room.

"Oh my God, Matty." Quinn gasps.

"Santana knows love." He insists.

"She does," You agree.

"Because that's why she gave me that necklace," He points to your neck. "And that's why I gave it to Brittany…notyou." He pouts at Quinn. You grab the wine and we snicker, almost holding hands, as we exit without Quinn.

"Yeesh, add the kitchen to the list of rooms girls seem to go into in groups and come out of hours later!" My dad jokes, reaching for the wine. As we sit, you pinch my hip because you know I have a plethora of dirty jokes prepared for just such an occasion, but I reassure you with a knowing smile and you return it with a soft wink.

"I'm sorry, Sweetheart."

Oh. Dear. Lord. I just said that out loud.

And of course the discussions had simmered as the new wine was being poured, so everyone heard.

It was an honest mistake…it's really hard to hear over the sound of your smile. That and knowing that we're not fighting anymore was enough to make me forget that anyone else was around. Seeing you happy with me is like…all that ever matters any more…damnit. I had even put my hand in yours and visibly swooned when you looked to me.

"Santana don't you know I love you? I would never do anything to hurt you." It's funny because you, as opposed to me, are completely aware of our surroundings and youstill make this confession. Like you've been waiting. I hold on to you for dear life and don't take my eyes away from the vast sea of yours. It's the only thing that will enable me to survive the aftermath.

I can hear Quinn laughing. I can hear my Dad choke on his wine…and that's pretty much all I can take. Everyone's talking at once. Matty is saying how he loves me too. My Aunt is telling him to hush up. My mom is…smiling? My brother and sister have a couple of 'yikes' expressions slapped on their faces. Now my Dad is fumbling angrily with anything he can get his hands on, and Quinn is still cackling her 'I told you so's'.

"What's so funny?" You say to her.

"Nothing's funny, Brittany." My dad roars.

"Carlos, sit down." Mom says.

"Sit down? Sit—are you kidding me right now, Marcia? Do you understand the implications—you don't. Of course you don't. Well here they are: Santana Lopez is now an out actress."

"So what?" I hear myself say.

"Santana, they will pigeon-hole you! This bullshit show you're on now? That's all you'll ever be known for. People won't see your potential because of you and your…this."—he waves a hand at you—"and that's how they'll see you. It's so sad, Baby. But it's true. That's why I told you to wait."

"Mr. Carlos, relax," You put your arm around me.

He shoots you a sinister glare and continues. "Santana, I thought you were smarter than this."

I'm crying. When did I start crying? I only know it because it's so difficult to speak,

"You are so …how did you get like this? Haven't you looked around lately? Plenty of famous people are out. I don't…I don't….I've never had to hide and I don't intend on doing so now. You can, you can take Sue away—"

"I will—"

"—You can fire Brittany—"

"—I will."

I wasn't expecting either of those to be affirmed so quickly…so the rest of my sentence is unintelligible to everyone but you. So you translate:

"She said 'but you can't keep living in the world you grew up in. Where it wasn't ok to be gay, or black, or even left-handed…You're just so'… bong?—oh wrong…she said 'you're just so wrong.'"

Finally Mom chimes in.

"I've been telling him this for ages, Baby. Your father is set in his ways about so many things…."

"Which is probably why his magazine is so esoteric…only the most pretentious people buy that nonsense." Matty's mom cuts up his food as she speaks.

I see this wide smile spread across your face as you continue to hold my trembling body. You've just basically been fired, but you're squeezing me so tight and looking around the room like you won the lottery.

"Brittany, stop." Quinn begins to scowl.

"Oh get off it, Quinn. She's mine and everybody loves it." You continue smiling. Quinn flinches with paranoia and starts darting her eyes nervously.

I feel like I should say something. Like this is my time to explicitly declare my love for you and tell my family that I don't give a shit about the consequences—well really just my Dad apparently—because I want to spend the rest of my life in this embrace. But I can't. I mean, I know they probably already get it, but I'd like to claim you like you claimed me. I want you to feel special and wanted and mine. But I'm overwhelmed by everything my father just took away. I'm too busy wondering if you're going to want to go back home once you realize what it means to be my girlfriend…in front of the world. Wondering if Sue dropping me will jeopardize my job. Wondering how my Dad could abandon me…again.

Dinner ends rather abruptly.

As usual, everyone kind of wishes they hadn't come. Except you. As we gather at the door, you hug everyone as we leave, even Quinn and especially my dad. I will never understand your optimism, Brittany. It's like you completely forget why people are sad when you're not. Everything that just happened only amounts to one thing for you and you all but announce it at the cast party the following night.

This one I'm sure Mercedes organized because my family wouldn't mingle with so many of my friends for anyone else. Well, maybe Quinn, but Quinn would never care to ask. Also, she wouldn't have shown up at your request…

The roof of the studio where the show is filmed has been decked out with an open bar, Christmas lights, and tables. I thought I'd seen everyone last night…but I was sorely mistaken. I'm kind of sick of all of them, though. The last two birthday parties have left me so drained that I'd really rather just tail you. You shield me from my dad's disapproving glares; Quinn's miserable disposition and everyone else's questions.

No, the article hasn't been released yet, but as expected, my dad has spilled every last bean. The only time you leave my side is to make your toast. When you summarize the repercussions of last night's dinner.

"Let's just clear this up"—a hush falls over the crowd, "and I'm probably going to get in big trouble for this, but…so what? I can finally share. Because I get it now…what she means to me. Santana is my best friend. My soul mate, and everything I've ever wanted and wanted to be all wrapped up in that hot little body"—the raucous laughter offsets how wildly inappropriateness that last comment was…you just can't help yourself can you?— "So happy birthday, my love. I guess Mercedes out did my sad attempt for a party…"

"No," I hear a voice cry. It's mine. Then I feel myself moving the few feet it takes to get to you. You've been standing at a silly podium from the set and it's only when I join you behind it that I can see how many people are actually here. The roof has been packed with tables. There are at least 200 people staring back at me and I can barely control my thoughts. I look into your eyes to steady myself and say into the mic, "You were not out done, Brittany. …This is my very first happy birthday. And it's because this could very well be a party of 2 and I'd be just as content. I've had the same parties every year. Same presents…same friends and…it's you …that makes all the difference. And the way I love you…the way you love me… That makes me happy." The crowd awws. I'm sure more than a few of them are offended, but I'll— no let's be real, I won't apologize later. They can simply get the fuck over it. It's the truth.

I see Quinn on a mission headed towards us as we walk away from the podium.

"I have to tell you something, " I whisper.

"Quinn made you sleep with Finn."

"Oh my God you're a mind reader," I say, genuinely taken aback.

"I'm not. It's just really obvious. But I don't want to know why. Or when...or anything else. You told me. And thatmakes all the difference."

You rest your hands on my cheeks and smirk as we kiss. I can hear Quinn gasp as she arrives just in time to catch it.

"I'm going to marry you." I say as we pull away.

"I knew that too." You smile.

...

**Story's over. You've got two choices: come say hi/ask questions at my tumblr (check the profile) OR review AND come say hi. Up to you ;)**


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